


Held

by FiraHunter



Series: Touched [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Castiel's Loss of Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Character Study, Commander Castiel, Domestic Castiel (Supernatural), F/M, Fluff, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Smut, Soft Castiel (Supernatural), Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiraHunter/pseuds/FiraHunter
Summary: Book Three. Sequel to "Kept." Brooke and Castiel are mysteriously rescued from Purgatory and returned to Earth, with no memory of how they got out. Together, they must navigate the trauma of their time in that monster-ridden land, and reconnect with Sam and Dean. In the backs of their minds, they can't help but wonder: Who rescued them, and why? (Seasons 8&9)
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Touched [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053692
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to chapter one of "Held," the sequel to "Kept." If this is your first time here, please head back to my author page and read the first book in the series, titled, "Touched." If you've been around a while, welcome back, and I'm pleased to have you!

_One_

Brooke sat on one of the beds in Sam and Dean's motel room, holding her face in her hands. She could hear their voices, but they were muffled, and sounded far away, as if through a wall, or from underwater. Her headache pounded with each heartbeat; she was dirty and sweaty and starving. She shook as she sat on the bed, from exhaustion or hunger or pain… She didn't really know.

Castiel appeared, walking out of the bathroom. The first thing she noticed, with her eyes so downcast, were his shoes. They were clean. And so was his coat. She stared up into his face. Clean-shaven. _Clean_. He smiled.

"Better?" he asked, spreading his arms.

She smiled at him, but it felt hollow. He was the sun, once again, but his light was weak and watery, unable to reach her fully, through whatever shadow surrounded her.

He smiled at Sam and Dean, then looked at her and said, "Oh." He approached her, two fingers held out, to push against her forehead.

She flinched away from his hand, an automatic response, her heart pounding.

Castiel's smile faded. He crouched down in front of her, looking up into her face as she sat on the bed. Slowly, he reached for her hand. She let him take it, and felt a little less foggy, all of a sudden. Her headache lessened; the stiffness in her muscles went away; the faintness in her body, like she was about to pass out, was replaced with strength.

Brooke looked down at herself and saw that she was clean. Still, she craved a shower, the feeling of warm water running down her body. She looked clean, felt physically better, but she felt… wrong. Everything felt wrong. She didn't want to be here, stared at by the Winchesters. She felt naked.

Castiel continued to hold her hand for a moment, then he stood up. "Does one of you have a credit card I could use to get Brooke a room of her own, here?"

"Uhh," said Sam, standing up and grabbing his wallet. "Sure. Here." He handed Castiel a credit card.

"Thanks," the angel said, taking it. He turned back to Brooke.

She stared up at him.

_Come on_ , he said, gently, silently.

She stood and trailed him to the door.

"Hey, hey," Dean said, holding out a hand to stop them.

Castiel placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'll be back soon. I'm just going to get Brooke settled in."

Dean glanced from him to Brooke. She stared at him with empty eyes. He looked away first.

###

Brooke stood in the shower as the water rained down on her, scaldingly hot. Castiel had left her alone in the room next to the boys', to give her time to… adjust. Or something. Truth be told, he was having just as hard a time adjusting as she was. He was just better at hiding it. More talkative. Talking, in general. Something that Brooke seemed to have forgotten how to do since they'd gotten out of Purgatory.

_Purgatory._

_Monsters, monsters, everywhere, and not an end in sight._

If Brooke had thought they were in Purgatory to be punished for their sins… well, they'd certainly been punished. She looked down at her hands, and saw them covered in blood, even though she knew they were not. She closed her eyes, and through the sound of the shower, all she could hear were growls and screams and wet, squelching bloody wounds.

No sleep. No food. In Purgatory, such human weaknesses did not exist. Brooke had been awake for a year. Had not eaten for a year. The fogginess from earlier had been because Castiel had teleported them around for the past two days, trying to find Dean.

She hadn't spoken since they gotten out. The sound of her own voice, even clearing her throat, made her jumpy. _Everything_ made her jumpy. And now, Castiel was gone. He had thought, perhaps, that privacy was what she wanted. After all, they had been each other's constant companions, never separating for even a moment, for the past year. And leaving her on her own was giving him a chance to catch up with the boys. More Dean than Sam. Dean, who had found them in Purgatory, towards the end.

She wondered if she should have gone with Dean through the portal, after all. But it had already been a year by that point. She figured leaving just a little earlier would not have prevented her from going insane. Not at that point. At that point, she was already too far gone, barely human, reacting on instinct alone. The only thing keeping her from going completely feral was Castiel's presence.

And now he had left her, to go chat it up with Dean Winchester. To pretend like everything was fine.

Endless minutes later, the angel found Brooke sitting on the floor of the shower. The water had gone cold, but still it poured down onto her. She sat in the tub, her knees pulled up to her chest, shivering. But she would not turn off the water. Her headache had returned.

Brooke jumped as he shut the water off, the sudden absence of noise deafeningly loud. Purgatory had never been silent. Never. Her eyes met Castiel's, accusatorially, as if him turning the shower off had been the worst thing he could have possibly done to her. He held her gaze, and his eyes were soft. Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor in the bathroom and sat beside her as she continued to curl up on the floor of the shower.

He did not speak. In the past two days, he had hardly spoken a word to her, even in his mind, for he had realized that each time he spoke, she pulled further into herself. Only her utter exhaustion had prevented her from completely breaking down at the sudden influx of voices in the motel room with Sam and Dean.

Odd that the sound of running water was fine, but voices… She couldn't handle voices. Voices _wanted_ something from her, and she had nothing more to give. They could kiss her ass if they asked anything of her. She was done. Yet, she could not _be_ done, for she was bonded to Castiel so strongly that when he left her, it hurt. And Castiel, whether he knew it or not, was in love with Dean Winchester. So, wherever Dean went, Castiel would follow.

And wherever Castiel went, Brooke would follow. It had been like this from the very beginning, but it was only now, in the silence between the voices, that Brooke had realized what Castiel had not. It would take many more years for Castiel to realize that he was in love with Dean.

Brooke did not care. An angel could love two humans at once, in vastly different ways. She was not jealous of Dean Winchester. She only cared at all because she knew that, as long as Castiel loved Dean, then she could never quit. Could never give up the life of the Hunter. Could never go live somewhere quiet, and far away. Somehow, she would have to figure out how to pull herself together, even though all she wanted to do was sit here in the tub forever.

She glanced at Castiel, who was sitting quietly, staring at the wall. _Why are you here?_ she asked. _Don't you want to spend time with your boyfriend?_

Castiel turned and looked at Brooke. _I'm not in love with Dean._

_You are, you just don't know it. Or maybe don't want to admit it. So, why are you here?_

_To spend time with my wife_ , he said, and smiled gently at her. _My wife, whom I love._

She stared at him without really seeing him. _You spent the last year with me, practically attached at the hip. Aren't you tired of me?_

_No._

Brooke looked away from him, staring at the wall of the shower. _I'm tired of me. I'm tired of everything, and everyone. I just want to sleep for a hundred years._

_Are you tired of_ me _?_ Castiel asked, though there was nothing accusatory in his tone. It was only a question, a genuine one.

Brooke did not answer because she did not know _how_ to answer. All she knew was that, sooner or later, Castiel would accompany the Winchesters on another adventure, and she would not be left behind because she would refuse to sit in the dark by herself. So, she needed to bury her shit down deep. And the first step was to get used to noise again.

"Castiel," she said, aloud, and her voice cracked from lack of use. The sound of echoed in the shower, and she closed her eyes against the noise. The noise that made her want to squeeze her own head so hard that it exploded. All she saw behind her eyelids was blood. Monsters and killing and blood and pain.

In her mind, she felt his sorrow, his pity.

"Fuck you," she said, and her voice cracked again, and she wanted to curl up in the bathtub and cry, and turn the water back on and lay under the faucet with her face turned to the water until she drowned. "Don't you pity me, you piece of shit."

Castiel said nothing, and did not move.

After a while, the sound of her voice stopped grating on her nerves so much. She lowered her hands from her head and looked at him. _I'm sorry_ , she said in her mind, because she was afraid she would really try to kill herself if she spoke aloud again.

He shook his head. _You're… traumatized. I don't take the insults personally._

_Don't pity me_ , Brooke repeated. _I'm not the only one here with PTSD._

Castiel stared at her, but did not deny it. He swallowed.

Brooke took a deep, deep breath and began to stand up. Castiel stood up faster and offered his hand to her. She took it, flinching at the feel of something touching her that was alive, but held herself together.

"Fuck me," she demanded.

Castiel went very still.

"Don't shut down like that," Brooke snapped, her voice cracking again, sounding hoarse and broken. Her throat hurt. "Both of us can't be shut down. You went crazy before Purgatory and I took care of you, then. Now I'm crazy, and you need to be stronger than me."

He gazed at her, his eyes soft, but in pain. "I don't think sex—

"Sex is the closest thing I can think of to combat that isn't painful. It's loud. There's physical contact. It's messy. I need to readjust to being back on Earth, and I need to prepare for whenever the fuck the Winchesters are going to _demand_ that we help them with _something_. I can't be having a panic attack anytime someone does something loud, unexpectedly, or I'm gonna get myself killed."

"Your reasoning is… strange," he murmured.

Brooke stood her ground. "Are you gonna fuck me or not? You want me to ask Dean if he'd like to join?"

Castiel's eyes went wide.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What is your issue with Dean Winchester?" the angel asked.

"Not an issue. Just an understanding. I had a lot of time to think in Purgatory."

He sighed, looking at the floor. "I am not… sexually attracted to Dean," he said.

"No?" She folded her arms over her chest. "What about me, now that I'm not disgusting and covered in blood and dirt and… monster guts? Are you sexually attracted to _me_?"

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, then he opened them again and brought his forehead down to touch hers. She almost flinched, but held herself steady.

_You can hardly stand it when I touch you_ , he said. _And you want to have sex?_

Brooke shrugged. "Exposure therapy," she whispered. She felt his hesitation in her mind, and snatched one of his hands, pressing it to one her breasts, forcing the fingers to close around the flesh. "Just do it."

He took a deep breath. "All right."

…

The sex did not heal her, but she had not expected it to. It was only a first step. She cried halfway through, so they stopped, but it wasn't anything Castiel had done. It was simply… the pain of everything else. Still, some sort of wall that had been put up between them, some emotional distance, was broken down, at least a little. Castiel felt more familiar to her, closer. Their time in Purgatory had changed their relationship, so that she had stopped thinking of him as a husband and more as a… fellow soldier. There was no time for romance when all you knew was death.

As her tears abated, she turned in the bed to look at him, and focused on his hand, which was resting on his chest. The gold wedding band was back on his finger now—something both of them had removed and hidden away in his trench coat after some bastard monster had tried to take the rings from them.

She turned again and lay on her back, lifting her own left hand to stare up at her own ring. "We never contacted Daphne," she whispered, thinking back to those perfect six months, that time in their life that now felt more like a dream than reality.

"I wouldn't even… know what to say to her, now," Castiel replied, his own voice hardly above a whisper.

"No," Brooke agreed.

No, there was nothing they could possibly say to Daphne that would suffice. No way to explain any of it. It had been more than a year, now. It was best to leave Daphne be, and let her think that Brooke and Castiel had died. Because the truth of it was so much worse.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two_

Brooke and Castiel came back to Sam and Dean's motel room two hours after Castiel had found her in the shower. Dean had gone off to get beers, apparently, so Cass sat down on the couch in front of the TV and entertained himself. He kept changing the channel after a few seconds, smiling.

Brooke leaned her hip against the table where Sam sat, tapping away at his laptop. After a few moments, he glanced up at her. "D-Did you need something?" he asked.

Brooke smiled at him, but didn't speak. She still found it too difficult to talk to anyone besides Castiel. And Castiel was the only one she could speak to because he was the only one who could possibly understand, other than, perhaps, Dean.

"She wants you to stand up," Castiel said, from the couch.

Sam glanced at the angel, then back at Brooke. "What?"

"She wants to give you a hug," Castiel explained, patiently.

"Oh." Sam laughed, and stood up.

Brooke wrapped her arms around him. Sam patted her back awkwardly. She pulled away after only a few seconds, understanding from Sam's body language that hugs weren't really his thing. The Winchesters had never been big on hugs, not even Sam, who was softer than Dean. Brooke smiled up at Sam and then turned and made her way to the couch, to watch TV with her angel.

The hug had been necessary. It was part of her exposure therapy, to remind herself that Castiel wasn't the only being in the universe who was there as a friend. Brooke had never spent much time with the Winchester boys on her own. Usually she was with Castiel, either with the boys or not. Probably, neither of them really considered her a friend—more so a constant accessory on the arm of the _angel_ they considered a friend. Even so, they were at least _friendly_ with her, and that was good enough, for now.

Castiel opened an arm to her as she sat on the couch and she allowed herself to be held by him as he continued to flick through the TV channels.

A few minutes later, Dean walked through the door, carrying a case of beers and a bag that smelled like food.

_Food_. Brooke had not eaten in a year. She stood up on shaky legs, staring at Dean as he put the beer in the fridge. He turned, with a smirk, and tossed the bag at her.

Brooke flinched, hard, but caught the bag. Her legs wobbled so much that she was forced to sit down again, and her breathing was shaky and fast.

Dean looked at her, awkwardly. "S-Sorry," he said.

She shook her head at him, opening the bag. A burger. And _fries_. She stared up at him.

He continued to look at her, then glanced away, then looked back at her. "What?"

"She wants to know if all the food in the bag is for her," Castiel explained, still staring at the TV.

"Y-Yeah," Dean said.

Brooke smiled. Then she got up off the couch and hugged him.

"Okay," said Dean, patting her back just as awkwardly as Sam had. "Okay. All right. Good."

Brooke pulled away. She went to the fridge, took a beer, opened it, and drank it all in ten seconds, gulping it down in large swallows. She wiped her mouth on her arm and turned to move back toward the couch. Everyone was staring at her. She glanced between three sets of eyes, and then smiled shyly and shrugged.

"I thought you didn't drink," said Dean.

She settled her eyes on him.

"She says, 'Things change,'" Castiel explained, from the couch.

Dean glanced at him, then turned back to her. "What's up? You don't talk now?"

Brooke remained silent.

"Things change," Castiel repeated, his voice softer. Sadder.

Brooke sat back down on the couch and shoved a handful of fries into her mouth. They were only lukewarm, now, but they were the best things she'd ever tasted in her life. Salty, fatty, oily. She looked up at Dean from the couch and smiled, then grabbed the burger out of the bag and took the biggest bite of it she could. Sauce ran down her face.

Dean laughed.

Castiel glanced at her, saw the sauce dripping from the corner of her mouth, and quickly ran a finger through it before it fell onto her shirt. He stared at his finger for a moment, silently wondering what the hell to do with it now, then he seemed to give up and popped it into his mouth. Immediately, he grimaced.

"Food still gross to you?" Dean asked.

"Unfortunately," Castiel said.

"I thought it would be," Dean replied, "or I woulda gotten _you_ a burger, too."

"Well," the angel said, ducking his head and smiling. "Thank you for the thought."

As Brooke finished devouring her burger, Dean turned to Sam, who was still at this laptop. "What's the latest?" he asked.

"The latest is… nothing," Sam replied. "It's like it all stopped. No freak disappearances linked to any freak natural events."

Dean reached into the fridge and pulled out two beers, placing one on the table next to Sam and leaning over his brother's shoulder to look at the laptop. "So, how many is that? Seven?"

"Yeah, uh… Luigi, Justin, Aaron, Maria—

Beside Brooke, Castiel began to speak, reciting names from an invisible list in his head: "—Maria, Dennis, Krista, Sven."

Brooke stared at him, some small _ping_ of warning going off in her head. The fact that Cass, somehow, knew these names meant that he would be _useful_ to the Winchesters. Which meant they would ask something of him. Which meant she would have to go off with them somewhere, into danger.

"I missed television," Castiel said, with a smile, simultaneously squeezing Brooke's hand. _Steady_ , he said to her, silently.

"Wait, Cass," Sam said, "how'd you know those other names?"

"Well, they're _prophets_ ," Castiel replied, as if that were obvious.

"Prophets?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah, angels instinctively know the names of every prophet—past, present, and future."

Dean slow approached the angel. "So this list is the name of every one of 'em that exists?"

"Yes, until the next generation is born—plus Kevin Tran, of course. The other seven are future prophets, since, uh, only one can exist at a time."

"How is Kevin a prophet if Chuck is a prophet?" Sam asked.

Brooke stared at him, not really seeing him. She hadn't even thought about Chuck in… years.

Castiel shook his head, finally pulling his eyes away from the TV. "I'm not sure what happened to Chuck, but, um… he must be dead."

"So, the next one comes off the bench if Kevin goes down?" Dean asked.

"Exactly." Castiel nodded. "And they have no idea who they are, of course."

There was a pause, and then Sam said, angrily, "Crowley."

Brooke pulled into herself at the sound of the demon's name, shaking her head. The Grace in her blood, Castiel's Grace, came boiling to the surface so fast that she nearly blacked out. It screeched inside her, ringing so loudly in her ears that she could hear nothing else.

It was not Crowley, himself, that was causing this reaction. It was the knowledge that she would need to go off and help Sam and Dean fight him. That she would need to help Sam and Dean fight… _anything_.

Castiel had turned to her immediately, sensing the rise of his Grace within her. He was saying something, out loud. She could see his mouth moving, but all she heard was that screeching.

"I don't wanna fight," she said, and her voice sounded muffled and underwater. "I don't wanna fight."

Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder. _Brooke_ , he said, into her mind, since she could not hear anything. _Steady_.

She only shook her head harder, "I don't wanna fight," she repeated, and began to cry. Over and over, she repeated the phrase, running the words together until they were all one long word: idontwannafight.

Vaguely, she was aware of a low rumble in the floor of the motel room. The walls began to shake. Things fell off the shelves. Castiel stood up, quickly, turning to Sam and Dean, and then he turned back to her and gripped her shoulder.

They were far away now, in the middle of nowhere, outside.

_Brooke_ , Castiel said. _Control it. You have to control it, or you'll die._ He placed both hands on her shoulders, and she felt him pushing and pulling at the part of his Grace inside her, muting it.

Slowly, with his help, Brooke began to calm down. The ground beneath her feet stopped rumbling ominously. That constant whine in her ears dissipated. Her vision returned to its full capacity. She was left with an awful headache and wobbly knees. She fell into Castiel's chest and breathed heavily, her mind numb. As she came back to herself, she felt his hands on her back and in her hair.

_Is this what it felt like when you were insane?_ she asked, referring to when he had woken up out of his coma with an aversion to aggressive behavior.

_Mostly, yes_ , he replied, unashamed to talk about it with her.

_How come you didn't accidentally blow up, like, half the continent every time you freaked out?_

He chuckled lightly. _I've had millions of years' practice, controlling my Grace, plus I'm an angel. You've had… six years?_

" _Millions_ of years?" Brooke repeated, somehow surprised by Castiel's age, despite knowing that he had existed since the time before humans. "Six _years_?" she added, pulling away from him to stare into his face. "I've known you for _six years_?"

Castiel tilted his head, glancing upwards as he thought about it. "The two years before and during the Apocalypse; the year that I returned to Heaven; the year that I came to Earth, when I… wanted to open Purgatory; the year during which we forgot who we were, and then I fell into a coma and came back insane; and this last year. The year in Purgatory." He hesitated, recounting, and then nodded, looking at her. "Six years."

"Oh my God," she said. "I'm thirty-one years old." Suddenly, she felt ancient.

Castiel shook his head, touching her cheek. " _I_ am _millions of years old_ ," he said. "You're… practically nonexistent, compared to me."

Brooke stared up at him, saying, again, "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You married a… an _infant_." She grabbed at her head. "Well, at least I'm not worried about _Crowley_ anymore. Now I'm too freaked out about the fact that an angel who is _millions of years old_ … married some thirty-one-year-old human child. That is _horrifying_. That's like a one-hundred-year-old man marrying a newborn. Cass, you're a _pedophile_."

Castiel blinked, awkwardly. "I… never thought about that," he admitted. "I would think the cross-species part would be… weirder for you."

"What? I don't even think about that."

He smiled down at her, shaking his head.

"What?" she demanded.

"I… glow, and have wings, and… communicate with you telepathically. I can turn invisible. I don't eat, I don't sleep, and you… don't think about that?"

Brooke's eyes flitted here and there as she realized what he was saying. "Well, I… I think I used to think about all of that, when I was first questioning whether or not I loved you. But now… that's just you. It's who you are. I don't think about it. Your age, on the other hand… I never even really put together how old you were. Never stopped to think about the fact that you've been around since _before humans existed._ See, _that's_ crazy."

Castiel was still smiling at her, though it faltered. "Does it bother you, truly?"

"No," she said, and touched his face. "Nothing about you bothers me."

He brought his forehead down to hers. "You are too good to me," he murmured. "I don't de—

"You stop right there," she warned. "We've paid for our sins. We deserve each other. That's that."

He closed his eyes, and nodded.

Soon afterward, he teleported them both back into the motel room.

Brooke took some deep breaths, steeled herself, and prepared to face off against a demon. _Demons_ , plural. Most of her weapons had made it through with her when she and Castiel had miraculously appeared on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere back on Earth. She spent the next several minutes, as Castiel and the Winchester brothers spoke amongst themselves, playing with her angel blade.

Finally, right before they left, Dean went up to her. "Listen, are you good?" he asked. "No offense, but we can't afford to have you freak out the second a demon appears while we're trying to rescue Kevin. You can stay here if you're not up to it."

Brooke stared into his eyes. "I'm good," she said, and that was _all_ she said.

"All right, then," Dean replied, and patted her on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

She flinched, but relaxed immediately, reminding herself that she was no longer in Purgatory. Dean was not a monster, grabbing her shoulder to throw her to the ground, or pull her in to bite her. Dean was just Dean, and she looked at him in a new light as he turned away. He had done his best, for her and for Castiel, when he'd found them both, in Purgatory. Their relationship had always been a little rocky before, but she no longer felt any discomfort around him, and he seemed not to feel discomfort around her, either, as evidenced by bringing her food, out of the blue. Somehow, the shared experience of Purgatory had bonded them. If there was ever a silver lining to be found about being trapped in that hellhole… Brooke supposed this was it.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three_

They all sat silently in the Impala, waiting for Kevin Tran's mother to appear so that they could get on with rescuing the boy. But she was taking a long time, and the more time she took, the more on edge Brooke became. And, apparently, Dean was feeling the same way.

"Where the hell is she?" he muttered.

"She'll be here," Sam replied. "Look, mile marker 96 was kind of the halfway point."

Dean fell silent for a few minutes.

Brooke, for lack of anything better to do, took her angel blade out of her coat pocket and began to play with it again, flipping it around around in her hands, but careful to keep it over her own lap, lest it fall and slice Castiel open, who sat beside her. The angel could feel her tenseness and tried to soothe it with his mind, but she too on edge for it to do much good.

"Cass, can I talk to you outside?" Dean asked, suddenly, and got out of the car without waiting for a reply.

Castiel glanced at Brooke, sighed, and then slid over and opened the door, stepping out.

Brooke did what she always did anytime someone wanted to speak to Castiel _privately_. She focused on the part of his mind that ran, constantly in the background—a steady stream of Enochian, like chanting. It never worked, fully, to drown out whatever was being said between Castiel and whomever he was speaking to, but it did enough. Mostly, they had simply come to a silent agreement that whatever words were meant to be said in private would be conveniently ignored and never spoken about by the other person.

Castiel and Dean were only out there for, perhaps, a minute, before Kevin's mom showed up. Brooke and Sam got out of the car, Brooke moving automatically to Castiel's side. _What is Kevin's mom's name, again?_ she asked, silently.

_Linda_ , Castiel said.

"You can do this, can't you?" Linda asked, coming toward them all. "You can get him back?"

"How did Crowley find you?" Dean asked, not answering her question.

"Oh," she said, with a shrug of her shoulders. "I hired a witch and she ratted us out."

Castiel and Dean shared a glance.

"A _witch_?" Sam demanded.

Linda rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

"Why'd you hire a witch?" Sam asked.

"To make demon bombs, of course!"

Brooke squinted at her. _What?_ she thought, incredulously. She had never heard of a… demon bomb.

"These are Kevin's notes," the woman said, holding up a plain, black, spiral notebook.

Sam took it from her hand, flipping through it.

"You have any idea where Crowley took him?" Dean asked.

"No," she said. "But, uh… this guy might." She pressed a button on her car keys and opened the trunk, to reveal a demon tied up inside it.

Brooke stared at the demon, wanting to run away, vomit, and stab the creature to death all at the same time. The Grace in her blood began to rise as she stared at its face. She had not seen any demons in Purgatory—a curious detail to be noted—but she had seen plenty of things just as ugly.

Castiel gripped her wrist, tightly, squeezing it until her fingers tinged from lack of blood flow. _Steady_ , he warned.

She took a deep breath, imagining in her mind's eye a time when Castiel had laughed, a time when he had smiled at her, and she felt herself calm down. And Castiel, beside her, smiled shyly at the ground, happy that thoughts of _him_ were what calmed her.

###

They drove where the demon told them to, and Dean killed it the moment they arrived. No one complained about it.

As they slunk through the building, looking for Kevin, Brooke kept close to Castiel's side, steadying her breathing, focusing on that chanting chorus of Enochian in the back of his mind. The four of them moved down some stairs, and, upon reaching the bottom, Dean held out his hand to those behind him, warning them to hide from the approaching demon wandering the halls, guarding the place.

Castiel pulled Brooke into his hidey-hole with him, holding her against his chest. She stood in his arms, trying to keep her breathing calm when all she wanted to do was go out there and stab the demon. She trembled as she waited, fighting the rage of adrenaline rushing through her. Castiel only held her harder.

After a minute, Brooke heard the sound of the demon dying, killed by the magic blade in Dean's possession. And suddenly, she could breathe again. They moved out of their hiding place and stood beside Sam and Dean. Sam glanced around, looking from one direction to the other. He landed on the right hallway. "I'll check this way," he said, and moved off.

Dean glanced at Cass and Brooke, motioning with his head in the other direction. They followed him, silently. After a few more minutes of skulking about, Castiel murmured, "We're very near Kevin." As it was the angels' job to protect the prophets, all angels could sense the presence of one, if they were close enough. Castiel took the lead, following the invisible thread that tied him to Kevin Tran, but they were not walking for long when a demon appeared behind them.

Dean flipped the knife around in his hand and went for the creature, but was picked up and thrown into a wall. Castiel shouldered past Brooke, intent on smiting it, but the demon raised his hand again, and pushed Castiel back. He _pushed Castiel back_.

"Cass?" Brooke asked, stepping in front of the demon. _Are you okay?_

_I'm fine_ , Castiel said—a lie. Then he moved forward again, pressed his hand against the demon's forehead, and smote him. Immediately, Brooke felt the drain of his energy. He turned away and held onto the wall, panting hard, leaning heavily, unable to support his own weight. Brooke gripped one of his shoulders, able to offer little more than moral support. She had known, since they had returned to Earth, that Castiel was still weak. But even she had not known the extent of it, until now.

Dean picked himself up off the floor and went to the angel. "What the hell's goin' on?" he asked, holding Castiel up. "You're not all the way back, are you?"

Castiel could only continue to pant, trying to catch his breath, but he lifted his head and gave Dean a look, then glanced at Brooke. Brooke held his gaze for a moment, then looked at Dean, who was also giving her A Look. Neither one of them wanted to risk Castiel's life in these halls, but they needed to get Kevin back.

Dean sighed, patting Castiel's shoulder, and said, "Come on."

They moved. Brooke stayed right beside Castiel, there in case he stumbled, or slowed down.

_I'm fine_ , he told her, again.

_Don't fucking lie to me_ , she snapped.

The tendrils of his mind that were connected to hers flinched away from her for a moment, then resettled. _I'm strong_ enough _,_ he corrected.

Brooke did not reply.

They made it to a locked door and Dean took out his lock-picking tools. Brooke stood there, waiting, for about thirty seconds.

"It's not working," Dean growled, as he fiddled with the lock.

"Dean, I'm going in," Castiel said, behind him.

Brooke stared up at the side of his face as he stared seriously at the Winchester's back.

Dean turned to look at him. "Cass, no. You're not strong enough."

Castiel stared at him, then down at Brooke. In his face was hard resolve. "I'm strong _enough_ ," he repeated.

"Cass," Brooke began, laying a hand on his arm—

"I will not stand by, uselessly," he he interrupted her.

Brooke heaved a sigh, then looked at Dean, shrugging. Once Castiel truly set his mind to something, not even _she_ could change it.

"Guys," Dean began, but Brooke ignored him.

"I'm going with you," she cut in, quickly, her mind scrambling frantically against the idea of Castiel leaving her for even a moment, especially to go do something stupid and dangerous.

Castiel glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. "Of course you are," he said. "I don't think I'd be strong enough to keep you away."

Brooke stared at his face, then her mind settled. She took hold of his arm, and was teleported through the door, into the room with Kevin and Crowley. As she stared at the demon, the Grace in her blood whined, but she fought it down, and fought it down, keeping the insanity of Purgatory at bay. Her goal was to protect Kevin. That was all. Beside her, Castiel swayed on his feet, exhausted just from teleporting. She gripped his arm, shoring him up until he found his feet again.

Crowley stared at the two of them, smiling. "Castiel," he said. "And Whore. Fresh from Purgatory. I wish you'd called first."

"Crowley," the angel growled.

"Which Castiel is it this time?" the demon asked. "I'm never sure. Madman or megalomaniac?"

"Kevin is coming with me," Castiel said, shuffling closer to the demon, and to the boy.

Brooke moved closer, too, focusing on Kevin. Castiel was trickling information to her, letting her know what the plan was, and it mostly involved getting Kevin the hell away from the two non-humans in the room.

"I think not," said Crowley, loudly, closing in on the boy at the same time that Brooke did. "The prophet's playing on _my_ team now."

Brooke flinched at his being so close, and fought against the urge to scream maniacally and stab him with the nearest sharp object.

_Steady_ , said Castiel.

Brooke placed a hand on Kevin's shoulder.

Castiel stared Crowley down, slipping the angel blade in his coat sleeve down into his hand. He re-gripped it and held it up as a warning.

But Crowley had an angel blade of his own.

Brooke, too, had her angel blade, gripped in the hand that was not touching Kevin's shoulder, but she was not to use it unless absolutely necessary. Her job was to keep the boy safe. She pulled him away from the table as the two beings faced off against each other.

"So this is how it's gonna be?" Castiel asked.

"It's all very _West Side Story_ ," Crowley said, "but let's be logical." He gave the angel a once-over. "You look like hell, and I should know. You're not up for this." He smirked, all bravado.

Castiel glanced, for one second, at Brooke. Then he glowed. Of course, to _her_ , he was always glowing. But right then, he went so bright that he was nearly blinding. Still, she kept her eyes on him, and for just a few seconds, was reminded of how awe-struck she had been the first time she had ever seen him, in all his glory, those six years ago. He had walked through those warehouse doors, and even the sight of him had terrified the demons that had been tormenting her. He had been absolutely terrifying… and wondrously beautiful.

"Maybe you can get it up," Crowley said, "but you can't keep it up."

Castiel stared at the demon, and glowed even brighter, unfurling his wings.

Brooke saw both the shadow on the wall behind him, as well as his actual wings—a galaxy of stars and planets in a velvet sky.

Crowley was truly terrified now. "You're bluffing!" he shouted, but he was squinting, turning his face away from the light.

" _Do you want to take that chance?_ " Castiel asked, and his voice penetrated her mind, echoing with a roar like fire billowing.

Brooke stood beside Kevin, and tears fell from her eyes as she gazed at Castiel, remembering, for the first time in a long time, who and what he truly was.

Castiel lifted his hand to destroy Crowley, but the demon was quick. He ducked underneath the angel's hand and grabbed the tablet, about to teleport away.

_SMASH!_

Castiel brought his fist down with nearly his full might. The glass table shattered into a million pieces, and the demon tablet in Crowley's hand cracked in two. Crowley was thrown back, with only half the tablet in his hand, and vanished.

In the same moment, Dean came bursting through the door.

Brooke let go of Kevin's shoulder and made her way to Castiel. Glass crunched beneath her shoes. She cried, staring at the angel, and bent down, touching his face.

Castiel saw her tears and reached out to touch her. _What is it?_ he asked.

She shook her head, smiling. _I had forgotten_ , she said. _The strength in you. The… vastness of you._

He stared up at her from the floor, his eyes very serious. Penetrating.

_I'm not afraid anymore_ , she said.

###

"That was a bonehead move, back there," Dean reprimanded them both, as he riffled around in the trunk of the Impala. "You could have gotten yourselves killed. Why didn't you wait for me?" He slammed the trunk closed.

"Well, we didn't get killed," Castiel said. "And it worked."

"And if it didn't?" Dean asked, staring at the angel.

"It would have been _my_ problem," Castiel replied, finally looking back at Dean. He glanced down at Brooke. " _Our_ problem," he corrected.

"Well, that's not the way _I_ see it."

Castiel turned to fully face the Winchester. "Hey, everything isn't your responsibility. Getting me out of Purgatory wasn't your responsibility—

"You _didn't_ get out," Dean snapped, looking at Brooke, too. "So, whose fault was it?"

"It's not about fault," said Castiel. "It's about will." Castiel tilted his head, gazing at his friend. "Dean, do you really not remember?"

Dean scoffed. "I lived it, Cass. Okay? I _know_ what happened."

"No," Castiel said, gently, shaking his head. "No, you think you know. You remembered it the way you needed to."

"Look, I don't need to feel like hell for failing you, okay?" Dean stepped closer to the angel, looking him in the eyes. "For failing you like I've failed every other godforsaken thing that I care about! I don't need it!"

Castiel glanced down at Brooke for a moment, weighing his options. He sighed. "Dean, just look at it," he said, lifting his hand to Dean's forehead. " _Really_ look at it."

Brooke stood calmly beside her husband as the memory of that day played in Dean Winchester's head.

When it was over, Dean opened his eyes again, and stared at them both incredulously.

"See, it wasn't that I was weak," Castiel explained. "And it wasn't that Brooke was weak. I was stronger than you. I pulled away, and Brooke chose to stay by my side. Nothing you could have done would have saved me, because I didn't want to be saved."

Brooke took a breath and held Castiel's hand.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded.

"It's where I belonged," Castiel said, growing emotional. "I needed to do penance. After the things I did on Earth, and in Heaven, I didn't deserve to be out. And I saw that, clearly, when I was there. I…" He turned away. "I planned to stay all along. I just didn't know how to tell you."

Dean stared, his mouth a grim line. He looked somewhere between angry and depressed.

"You can't save everyone, my friend," Castiel told him, gently. "Though, you try."

Dean shook his head, glancing down at Brooke. "You were right there, with me," he said to her.

And she realized, then, that he felt just as guilty about leaving her as he did leaving Castiel.

"My place is beside my husband," she told him, squeezing Castiel's hand. "I am just as guilty as he is. I kept his secrets, I allowed him to open the doors to Purgatory. I allowed him to shatter Sam's Hell Wall. I stayed to do penance, just as Castiel did."

Dean stared at her, then back up at Castiel, his lower lip quivering.

"Hey," said Sam's voice, behind them all. "Everything okay?"

Dean did not answer.

"Yeah," Castiel replied. "Just, uh… setting a few things straight."

Sam began to say something about the tablet, when Brooke's head went: _Blip!_

Or, was it Castiel's head that had done it? Brooke squeezed her hand, expecting to feel Castiel's fingers in her own, then looked down. When had she let go of Castiel's hand? She did not recall doing so.

_What the hell was that?_ Brooke asked.

Castiel glanced at her. _I… don't know_ , he said.

"Guys, you okay?" Sam asked.

"I—I'm fine," said Castiel. "We're… fine. And, yes, we're with you, if that's all right." He turned to Dean.

Dean looked at them both, glancing between angel and human, and nodded.

Castiel shouldered past Sam and Dean, and Brooke followed. They went some distance away, and then Castiel turned to her. _Are you all right?_ he asked.

_Yes, I'm fine. I just… you felt that, too, didn't you?_

He squinted at the ground, massaging a temple with his fingers. _Yes, I felt it… I don't know what it was._

Brooke thought back, to when they had both lost their memories and assumed the identities of Ruth and Emmanuel. Every time they had tried to recall a memory from their pasts, it had caused pain. Headaches would form.

_Maybe it's like that_ , she mused. _Talking about Purgatory started to trigger a memory? Of how we got out, I assume. But maybe we're not ready to remember…_

Castiel nodded. _That… makes sense, I suppose. If that's the case, then we shouldn't try to force it._

_No_ , she agreed. _The memories will come, in time_.

There was a pause, and Castiel reached out and cupped her face in his hands, bringing his forehead down to touch hers.

_What is it?_ she asked, surprised at his sudden gentleness when she had said nothing to bring it on.

He smiled at her. _You remembered._

_Remembered?_

_You remembered_ me _. Me, from… the beginning._

He played the memory in her head, of himself walking through those warehouse doors, destroying the demons who had been tormenting her, burning through the rope that had held her to the chair.

She returned his smile. _You were beautiful, that day. You_ are _beautiful. I had simply forgotten how strong you are…_

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to drink in her presence. Then he bent down, and kissed her.


	4. Chapter 4

_Four_

_Something was chasing her—some monster. She ran through the trees, stumbling over roots and rocks. Where was Castiel? Hadn't he been right there? The creature was closing in on her. She could hear its ragged breath right behind her. She took a running leap down the side of a hill, lost her footing and tumbled head-long into the ground. It followed._

_Panting hard, ignoring the pain in her body, she flipped over onto her back, her angel blade in her hand, yelling as the creature landed on top of her—_

"Brooke!"

She came awake with a yell, half-blind, struggling with whoever—whatever—was grasping her arms.

"Brooke!" he repeated.

"GET OFF!" she screamed, feeling for the angel blade she kept under her pillow.

Whoever was there let go of her, and she lunged after them, but something in her own body was preventing her from killing whoever it was. Her muscles fought against her, screaming in disagreement. She came fully awake with the pain in her body, and saw herself, holding the blade a half-inch from Castiel's left eyeball. She stared at him, trembling, then threw the blade far away, across the motel room. It had been Castiel's Grace, in her body, that had stopped her from stabbing him.

Panting, she said, "I—I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he said, keeping his hands up in an 'I surrender' fashion.

"No. I almost stabbed you. I could have killed you, I… Could I have killed you, stabbing you in the _eye_?" She didn't know why she had latched onto that question, but it was already spoken.

"I don't know," he replied. "Maybe. Probably. It's a long blade. Would've pierced my brain, at some point."

"Oh, God," Brooke said, and put her face in her hands. "I almost fucking killed you."

Castiel's voice was surprisingly calm, given the situation. "I should have known better than to touch you while you were like that. I only meant to wake you out of your nightmare, but…"

She heaved a sigh and fell against his chest, trembling, breathing shakily, trying to pull herself together. "I thought… I thought I wasn't scared anymore," she whispered. But, it seemed, her brain had other plans.

Castiel said nothing; he simply tangled his fingers through her hair, and let her breathe.

###

They—Brooke, really—had breakfast in some little diner somewhere, and she relished her omelette and hash browns. And coffee. She loved coffee. Like most Hunters, she was probably addicted to the stuff, since late nights and early mornings were the standard in her line of work.

Castiel stared at her she brought the mug to her lips. She swallowed some of it and said, "What?"

He tilted his head. "Can I… try it?"

She smiled in amusement and held out the mug to him. "You hate food; I don't imagine you'll like coffee. It's bitter."

He took the proffered mug and drank some of the coffee, immediately making a face. Smacking his lips and shaking his head, he handed the mug back to her. "Why does anyone drink that?"

She laughed. "To stay awake, mostly."

After breakfast, Castiel teleported them off to see Sam and Dean, who were at an auto repair place that was also a gas station. Castiel stood, leaning against the Impala, reading the newspaper. In his suit and tie, trench coat over top, reading like that, he looked almost human, and Brooke smiled at him. Except that she could see the angel underneath.

"What's the word, Cass?" Dean asked, coming over to the two of them.

"It's a shortened version of my name," the angel said.

Brooke laughed. "That's not…" she began, and then shook her head and gave up. There he had been, looking so human—and he had to go and ruin it by reminding them all of how much of an angel he really was.

Dean glanced at her, then looked at Castiel. "Yes, it is," he said. "I meant, what's the word on the Word? Any, uh, tablet chatter on angel radio?"

Castiel glanced up from the paper. "Oh, I couldn't say. I turned that off."

"You can do that?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, it's a simple matter of blocking out certain subsonic frequencies. I could draw you a diagram if you want."

"No—that's—we're good," said Dean, sounding like the _last_ thing he wanted on Earth was to stare at some nonsensical diagram of how angel telepathy worked.

" _I_ want a diagram," Brooke said, interrupting whatever he'd been about to say next.

Castiel looked at her.

"Well, you communicate with me telepathically all the time," she said. "But you haven't blocked me out, which means _our_ connection can't be the same frequency as the angels. Or whatever."

Castiel bent down and stuck his head through the window of the Impala, pulling the glovebox open. He straightened back up after a moment, with a pen in his hand, and began to draw on the newspaper, in large, bold strokes.

"Why'd you flip the switch?" Dean asked.

Castiel's eyes concentrated on what he was drawing, but he said to Dean, "Because it's a direct link to Heaven. And I don't want anything to do with that place—not anymore."

Brooke studied the side of his face, and listened to the background thoughts in his mind. He was sad about a lot of things, but there was a glimmer of hope in all that darkness, too.

Castiel looked up from drawing on the newspaper and handed it to her. He had drawn heavily, so that she could see the diagram over top of the print. Quietly, he stood, looking over her shoulder, pointing with one finger, explaining each line, each section. His voice was calm and warm in her ear; he was so close as to be nearly touching her, and heat radiated from him, warming her right side. Brooke couldn't say, at the end of a minute, that she really understood _everything_ he had just shown her, but she thought she got the gist of it.

"Basically you're just sending out a separate frequency that acts like a radio jammer?" she asked. "The same frequency as the one you receive, so it… messes it up, right?"

"That's correct," he said.

"Humans run at a separate frequency from angels, so if I wanted to block you from my mind, I'd send out a different frequency from the one I use to block out angel radio."

"So it's… less magic, more science," she murmured, staring down at the drawing.

"It's both. I need magic to be able to send the frequency, but from there it becomes science."

"Hey!"

Dean's voice startled Brooke. She flinched and stared up at him. He was looking at the two of them like they were crazy. "Shut up, nerds," he said.

She laughed, then turned to face Castiel and kissed him on the cheek, before flouncing around to the other side of the Impala to show Sam the diagram. His face, earlier, had indicated an interest in seeing it. He took it from her and studied it, as Dean spoke to Castiel.

The next thing that she truly heard Castiel say was, "I'm gonna become a Hunter."

"You _what_?" she asked, staring at him over the top of the Impala. But he was smiling so joyfully that she couldn't even maintain her surprise. All she could do was smile back.

Sam laughed at Castiel. " _Really_?" he said.

"Yeah. I could be your third wheel."

Brooke squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to laugh. "Cass, that's—that doesn't mean…"

"You know that's not a _good_ thing, right?" Dean asked, finishing what she had been trying to say.

"Of _course_ it is," said Castiel, happily "A third wheel adds extra grip, greater stability—

"So what am I, then?" Brooke asked, her hands on her hips.

He smiled at her again. "You'd be the fourth wheel, of course."

Brooke lost her shit, and bent over with her hands on her knees, dying of laughter.

"Don't laugh," said Castiel, sounding a little crestfallen. "I even found a case…"

"No, I'm not…" Brooke began, and sucked in a few breaths, before standing up straight again. She stared at him. "Castiel, I love you. I would never laugh _at_ you… Okay, I _would_ laugh at you, but remember what I said about family and teasing you?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "You told me that family teases you because they love you."

"That's right," she said.

He nodded again. "Right. The case." He motioned for Sam to hand him back the newspaper, and took it from his hand, then turned and gave it to Dean. "Oklahoma City—a man's heart jumped ten feet out of his chest. It sounds like our kind of thing, right?"

 _Our kind of thing_.

Our, because Castiel wanted nothing more than acceptance into the group. To be part of the team.

Brooke continued to smile at the angel, over the top of the Impala, but she was beginning to see and feel the cracks in his cheery demeanor.

Since entering Purgatory, Castiel's insanity from absorbing Sam's "cage match scars," as Dean called them, had disappeared. It was as if going to Purgatory had been what he wanted all along. He had accepted his punishment for his hubris, for releasing Leviathans onto the Earth, for mass-murdering so many angels up in Heaven, for causing Sam's insanity. Being there had steadied him, strangely.

The one to go insane from being in Purgatory had been Brooke. All Hunters had PTSD; it came with the job. But the longer she had been in that monster-infested place, the worse it had all gotten. And Castiel had, once again, become her rock. And when they had reappeared on Earth, he had kept up that strength, for her, as she was now suffering the after-effects of being in a constant state of fight-or-flight for a year. Her nerves were shot; her temper was short; all she wanted to do was sleep, but when she _fell_ asleep, her nightmares were so vivid that it became difficult to tell what was real anymore.

So, Castiel remained strong, for her. Outwardly, anyway. But he could not hide himself from her, for she knew his mind. His heart. And he still felt just as guilty as ever—now doubly so, since he blamed himself for her current PTSD, despite the fact that she had _chosen_ to stay with him in Purgatory when she could have left a little earlier with Dean. He still craved the love and acceptance of these two men—Dean, especially. He still felt that he had not served enough penance, that whoever or whatever had lifted him from Purgatory had done so too early. Now, he smiled up into Dean's face to hide all that pain, that guilt.

He was strong for her, and claimed himself to be stronger than Dean for staying in Purgatory. But the truth was that he wanted nothing more than to prostrate himself before Sam and Dean, before Brooke, and cry, and scream, and beg for forgiveness. He was just as broken as she was. And they were the only two beings in the world who could possibly hold each other together, because they were the only two beings in the world who could possibly understand—truly understand.

Brooke moved silently around the side of the Impala, to her husband's side, and held his hand, feeling, suddenly, exhausted.

###

Brooke stood in the background of the room, observing Castiel as he tried to play "detective" with Sam and Dean. Detective Glass, the woman who was offering information on this case, had been off-put by the presence of _four_ FBI agents, but they'd been prepared for that. The story was that Sam and Dean (obviously using different names) were the true agents on the case; Castiel was in training to become an agent, and Brooke was there to observe him.

Castiel's problem was that he was… a little too eager to please, and had ignored any advice that she had given so far.

After Detective Glass left the autopsy room, Castiel bent down over the corpse of the man whose heart had leapt out of his chest, and _smelled him_.

"What are you doing?" Brooke asked, but her voice was tired and she didn't really care to try and stop him, at this point. Everyone left in the room was used to his odd behavior, and he wouldn't listen to her, anyways.

"Mr. Frieling's arterial health is, uh, excellent," said Castiel. That was when he bent down over the body and sniffed at it. "Mm," he said, his mind spinning as he tried to put something together. "He did recently suffer from a… mild, uh… what is that? Bladder infection." He stood up again, looking exceedingly proud of himself.

Dean stared across the room, at Brooke.

Brooke stared back, with a shake of her head and a small shrug of her shoulders, like, _I don't even know, man_.

Dean sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and then looked at the angel. "Cass," he said, "stop smelling the dead guy."

"Why?" Castiel asked, immediately.

Brooke snorted in amusement and closed her eyes. He was like a child. She could feel his slight irritation at her laughter, but he ignored her.

"Now I know everything about this man," he continued. "So, we can—

"Did you know he was having an affair?" Sam piped up, reading the file that Detective Glass had given him.

Castiel stared at him. "What?"

Dean glanced at Brooke again, smirking, and landed his gaze on the angel. "Strike one, Sherlock," he said.

 _You should know by now, Cass_ , Brooke said, silently.

He turned to look at her. _Know what?_

She shook her head at him with an amused smile. _That most of the stuff you need to know about a person isn't in the body._ She tapped her head, then pointed to his. _It's in the mind. The heart._

Castiel stared at her.

 _Would you have been able to tell, just by looking at me, that you'd be married to me, one day?_ she asked.

He smiled a little, seeming to finally understand. _No_ , he said.

###

Brooke stood, once again, in the background, observing Castiel as he went about pretending to be an FBI agent. Now they were at the dead guy's house, talking to his wife. And everything was going well—until Castiel absolutely lost his shit.

"Now, Ms. Frieling," Castiel said to the woman, leaning down over the table she was sitting at.

 _Cass, what the fuck are you doing?_ Brooke asked, sensing something building in him.

He ignored her. "I don't want to bother you," he said. "I-I really don't. But I-I do have just one question for you…" He slammed his down onto the table—Brooke's mind shattered into a thousand pieces as her husband did something violent and loud five feet from her—"WHY DID YOU KILL YOUR HUSBAND?"

 _Holy fucking shit_.

" _Agent_!" Brooke snapped, loudly, angrily, while trying to keep herself from going off the deep end.

Castiel turned to look at her.

"Agent Stills, a word," Dean broke in.

Castiel kept his eyes on Brooke's face for a moment, beginning to realize what _slamming_ his hand down on a table and _yelling_ might do to someone suffering from PTSD. But Dean was gesturing angrily with his eyes for him to go over in the corner with him.

The angel followed Dean like a kicked puppy. "What?" he whispered. "I was being Bad Cop."

"You were being _bad_ _everything_ ," Dean snapped.

"Please," said Sam, sitting down across the table from the poor woman who had just been traumatized by Castiel's utter stupidity. "Forgive my partner. He's, uh… he's going through some stuff."

Castiel, sufficiently lectured, glanced at Brooke out of the corner of his eye.

 _I swear to God, Cass…_ she said. _Think before you do shit._ Brooke was still trembling from the sound of him slamming his hand down on the table, from the sound of him yelling. It had not been directed at her, but it had shocked her system to hear it.

###

Later, after finding out about another death—a man who hovered in the air after stepping off a building before falling—they all went back their motel rooms.

Brooke sat alone in hers. Castiel had all but completely avoided her since causing her so much trouble earlier in the day. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her temples with her fingers, wondering if she should have come with the three of them at all. Wondering if, maybe, she didn't have what it took to be a Hunter anymore. What if they caught up to whatever monster was causing these deaths and she froze? That was how Hunters were killed—when they stopped having the guts to do the job.

She stood up and began to pace the room, worry overwhelming her.

Castiel, next door in Sam and Dean's room, tethered to her mind, could feel her slipping. He appeared in the room, suddenly.

Brooke felt the wind at her back and turned to face the angel. "I can't do this, Cass," she said.

"You _can_ ," he replied.

"No." She shook her head. "I'm gonna get someone killed, going after this monster. Or _any_ monster. I—I'm not fit—

Castiel took two long strides toward her and touched her face. "You are strong," he said, and he sounded so sure.

"Strong, sure," she whispered. "But I'm just as broken as _you_ are. No offense. Just… in the opposite direction." She sighed. "We came back from Purgatory and the first thing _you_ wanted to do was find Dean and stick to him like glue, become his… _pet_. Beg for affection and forgiveness." She turned away from Castiel and rubbed her arms. "The first thing _I_ wanted to do was _die_. Curl up on the floor and never get up again."

Castiel was silent for a long time. She could feel his mind working, trying to rationalize what she had just said to him. Trying not to take that jab about being Dean Winchester's pet personally.

"I'm sorry I frightened you," he finally murmured.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she snapped, spinning around to face him again. "Look, you let Sam and Dean do the talking, okay? You're a _fucking idiot_ , apparently. We don't need you scaring the shit out of anyone else."

He stared at her, sadly, his eyes mirroring betrayal, shock.

Brooke swallowed, looking away from him. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "You shouldn't let me talk to you like that."

"It's… fine," he said, even though it wasn't.

"I just don't get it," she said, quickly, not ready to deal with whatever tension was building between the two of them. "Facing off against Crowley, I was fine, even when you were loud. Even when you smashed into that glass table." She shook her head. "But then you do something so… mundane. Without even using your powers. Slam your hand down on a table and yell. And… I couldn't deal with it. Suddenly, you were too loud." She was shaking. "It's like my symptoms come and go, at random. I'm fine and then I'm just… not."

And she realized that talking about this was just making the tension worse. She could hear Castiel's Grace in her mind, in her ears, ringing like tinnitus, loud and whining. But it was coming from the Grace in her body. She squeezed her hands into fists, trying to breathe slowly, trying to force the Grace back down.

Castiel stood like a statue behind her, but she could feel him there. Worry exuded from him in waves.

"I don't want to fight anymore," she whispered. "But I want to fucking kill something." The Grace in her blood rose higher, roaring in her ears. Her eyes went white as it overpowered her, each pulsation coming faster until they ran together in one, long scream. Inside the white of her vision, all she could see was every monster she had killed in Purgatory. Every chase. Every time one of them hurt her. Every time she bled, or made something else bleed.

When she finally came down from the high of Castiel's Grace, she realized he was holding her. She was shaking uncontrollably, shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering. She clenched her jaws together to stop the noise. She dug her nails into her hands.

In her head, she heard a different noise now, one that Castiel was hearing. It was… police chatter?

"Sorry," Castiel murmured, pressing his fingers to his temple. "It's… There's been another death."

"Go," Brooke said, stepping away from him.

"Go?"

"With Sam and Dean. To check it out."

Castiel gazed at her, concern and sorrow and love all pouring from him at once. "No, I—I don't think you should be left alone right now," he said.

"I'm a big girl," Brooke said, folding her arms over her chest and turning away from him. "Go."

"Brooke—

" _Please_!" She closed her eyes. "Please, just go."

There was a moment's pause, and then she heard the sound of his wings unfurling, and felt the wind on her back as he teleported from the room.


	5. Chapter 5

_Five_

Brooke tried to sleep while they were gone, but nightmares plagued her, as they had ever since her return to Earth. Castiel was gone for hours with Sam and Dean. She got up out of bed at some point, knowing that sleep would not come, and spent the time exercising in her room, going through the routine she always did when she was left somewhere with nothing to do. Push-ups, sit-ups, crunches, high knees. There were more. By the end, she was sweaty and exhausted, and she took a shower.

She was drying herself off when she felt Castiel's return, that mental link growing stronger and stronger as he came nearer and nearer to the motel. He did not walk into their room. Instead, he went into the one next door, to Sam and Dean's room. Brooke thought that maybe that was for the best.

She could hear his thoughts as Dean started to talk to him a few minutes later, but did what she always did when he and Dean were speaking privately: she ignored it as best she could.

What she could not ignore was the sudden spike of anger a minute later. She winced, sucking air in through her teeth as Castiel's words echoed loudly in her mind: " _Dean_! I said _no_!"

Slowly, warily, Brooke reached out a tendril of her mind to him. _Are—are you all right?_

He did not respond in words, but silently asked her to stay. To listen to that conversation with Dean that was meant to be private.

She stood in the middle of her motel room, and closed her eyes to better focus on his words, and through him, Dean's.

_"Talk to me," Dean said to Castiel._

_"Dean, I…" Castiel sighed. "When I was… bad… and I had all those things—the… the Leviathans… writhing inside me… I caused a lot of suffering on Earth, but I_ devastated _Heaven. I vaporized thousands of my own kind, and I—I… I can't go back."_

_"'Cos if you do, the angels will kill you," Dean said._

_"Because if I see what Heaven's become—what I…" He took a steadying breath. "What_ I _made of it… I'm afraid I might kill_ myself _."_

Brooke slowly made her way over to the bed and sank down onto it. She understood why Castiel had beckoned her in, let her spy on their conversation. He wanted her to understand that he truly _was_ as broken as she was. And that, while _she_ wanted to kill everything and everyone else, to lash out in anger and pain, he wanted to kill _himself_ —to _stop_ the pain.

She pressed her hand to her mouth and began to cry.

He appeared in the room and walked up to her, crouching down in front of the bed where she sat and looking up into her face.

She stared down at him and saw pain—hers and his—reflected in his face.

"What the hell are we gonna do?" she whispered. "You're suicidal. I'm… I wanna kill _everyone_ , including myself…" She shook her head. "We're falling apart." She slid off the bed and onto the floor to be nearer to him.

He sat down on the floor, completely, and pulled her up into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. "I don't know what we'll do," he murmured, "but we'll do it together, like always… _Entreat me not to leave thee_."

She smiled slightly, wiped her face with the heels of her hands, and kissed him.

###

They were not, exactly, better by the time they walked into the old folks' home. But there was a kind of numbing over both of their emotions, a dull acceptance of their "new normal." They hid their true feelings underneath humor, and underneath the need to do this job, to solve this case.

Dean occasionally glanced at the two of them, his eyes lingering longer than necessary, but he said nothing.

Apparently, every robbery in the area related to this case had someone attached to it from this retirement home, which was… odd.

"All right, let's do this," Dean said, once they'd gained permission to question the residents. He turned and looked at Sam, Castiel, and Brooke. "No flirting."

_Does he mean with each other?_ Castiel wondered. _Or… with the residents?_

Brook glanced at him. _He was joking,_ she explained.

But, as it turned out, he wasn't far off.

As she and Castiel sat down to question one of the women, the old lady stared at Castiel with clear attraction. She put her face in her hands and smiled at him like a love-sick teenaged girl. "You are so pretty, Charles…" she sighed.

Castiel smiled awkwardly at the woman, then glanced across the table at Brooke. _Help me._

It took everything in Brooke not die laughing. _Well, she's not wrong_ , she told Castiel. _You are pretty._

_Now is not the time,_ Castiel said, his face growing more and more panicked the longer the old lady sat and stared at him. "That's not my name," he finally told her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You look so much like my third husband."

Brooke cleared her throat, leaning on the table. "We're here to talk about the robbery, ma'am."

The woman looked at her. "Robbery?"

"Yes. The one the police talked to you about a few days ago? Someone broke into your old house and stole a stack of bearer bonds. And some jewelry that you stashed under your floorboards."

"Oh, my diamonds!" the old lady said, her eyes lighting up. "Yes. I hid them there." She turned back to Castiel. "I'm sorry, Charles. I didn't trust you. You were quite the bounder."

At this point, Castiel was sort of learning to roll with the punches. Instead of trying to correct her again, he merely asked, "Did you tell anyone where your valuables were, Mrs. Tate?"

"I don't think so," the lady responded. "But then, I get a little fuzzy sometimes." She smiled.

"Have you noticed anything strange, lately?" Brooke asked. "Cold spots? Funny smells?"

Mrs. Tate tilted her head, thinking. "Well, there's the cat," she said, and pointed to a ginger cat laying on a couch nearby.

"The cat?" Brooke repeated. _She's completely insane_ , she thought to Castiel.

"He talks sometimes," Mrs. Tate explained. "Really hates that mouse."

Brooke glanced at Cass.

He glanced back at her, out of the corner of his eye, then he said, "I'll interrogate the cat."

Brooke stared at he got up and went to go… talk to the cat. _You'll_ what _?_ she demanded, silently. _Can you talk to animals?_

_Yes_ , he replied.

_You can talk to animals and I didn't know about it for six years?_

_You don't remember the dogs at the race track in Perth?_

Brooke proceeded to stare at him as he crouched down in front of the cat, and she felt the strangest sensation of being connected to an angel and a cat at the same time. Because _she_ could not communicate with animals, all she got were strange images and sounds that did not make sense. She sat in the chair, holding her head, until Dean's voice seemed to wake her up.

"Guys," came Dean's hissed whisper. "Let's go."

Brooke looked up at Dean.

"I've almost cracked him," Castiel said, from his position on the floor in front of the cat.

"Now!" Dean commanded.

Castiel glanced up at Dean, rolled his eyes, and pointed a finger at the cat. "Hey. I'm not through with you."

Brooke was finally able to think clearly again when Castiel cut off the mental connection to the cat. "Okay," she said, standing up a little unsteadily. "That was weird."

Castiel went over to her and gripped her shoulder to steady her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fine," she said, and they went off to follow Sam and Dean.

But Brooke could've sworn as she was leaving the day room that she heard someone behind her say, "Dumbass."

###

In the end, the one causing all the strange, cartoonish chaos in the vicinity of each robbery, was an old man with psychic powers. He was in something like a coma, or so far gone in his dementia-addled brain that he could not be roused into true consciousness. All he did, all day, was sit in his wheelchair at the old folks' home and watch cartoons. Which explained all the weird stuff: a man's heart leaping out of his chest; the robber painting black holes on the walls so that he could sneak in and out of buildings; anvils falling on peoples' heads.

The man doing the robbing, a staff member at the home, stole from the children of the old men and women living there. He carted the psychic around with him when he wanted to go rob a place, to cause chaos and make everything easier for him, and harder for anyone trying to investigate.

It was a strange case, one of the strangest that Brooke had ever worked, but none of those details were what stuck out to her. In the end, the way that they stopped the psychic man from causing anymore chaos was by going into his mind. Since he could not be roused into consciousness, then they had to go to _him_. Luckily, they had an angel on their side, who had powers like the ability to teleport himself an others into the mind of a person.

And as Sam Winchester spoke to the man, trying to convince him that being stuck in his own head wasn't the best idea, something about that speech rubbed off on Castiel as he stood back and watched, and listened.

"I need you stop this—take control," Sam begged of the old man.

"It's too hard!" he shouted, and there was pain in his eyes. The pain of having had to deal with the power of his own mind for so long.

"Look, it can be nice living in a dream world," Sam said. "It can be great. I know that. And you can hide, and you can pretend all the crap out there doesn't exist, but you can't do it forever because… eventually, whatever it is you're running from—it'll find you. It'll come along, and it'll punch you in the gut."

Beside her, Brooke could feel Castiel slowly taking in Sam's words. She could feel him listening, could feel him applying the words to his own situation. He was terrified, but he knew that Sam was right.

"And then," Sam continued, "then you gotta wake up, because if you don't, then trying to keep that dream alive will destroy you! It'll destroy everything!—

_"I destroyed everything!"_

A multitude of memories cascaded into Brooke's head.

_Castiel crying, back in the psych ward a year ago, his forehead pressed to the window. Begging her to just let him be anyone other than who he was._

_Castiel deflecting every time someone told him that he could do a lot of good in the fight against Dick Roman._

_Castiel deciding, on a whim, that he wanted to become a Hunter, like Sam and Dean._

_Castiel, finally admitting to Dean… to Brooke… that he wanted to kill himself, for all the devastation he had caused on Earth, and in Heaven…_

Brooke took his hand, a silent gesture of strength and solidarity.

_I have to go back_ , he said to her. _To Heaven. I can't run anymore._

_I know,_ she replied.

But when it was all said and done, and the old man was back in his wheelchair, happily listening to _Ode to Joy_ in his head, there was another _Blip!_ in Castiel's head. And a moment later, he no longer felt the urge to return to Heaven.

_It happened again_ , Brooke said.

_Yes_ , he replied. _But, somehow, it doesn't worry me. The last time it happened, we thought it had to do with our memories of how we left Purgatory. We agreed not to push through and try to recall the memories on our own._

_Right_ , said Brooke. _So?_

_So, if this happened again because I wanted to return to Heaven… then I don't think I should. Not yet. One day, yes. But not yet._

In the end, Castiel decided he simply wanted to sit with Mr. Jones, the psychic, and watch over him for a few days. And after that, he did not have a plan. Sam and Dean left Brooke and Castiel in the old folks' home, and after a few minutes, Brooke left Castiel to go find a motel room within relative walking distance (she missed having her own car).

###

Castiel stayed with Mr. Jones even through the night, sitting, invisibly, beside him.

Brooke had found a motel room to crash in for the next few days, and she expected to be alone for quite a while, though she was still close enough to Castiel, physically, to sense him. They had never really tested how far away he had to be before they could no longer sense one another, but she now knew that their connection was strong enough to encompass multiple street blocks.

As the night wore on, she eventually said good night to him (receiving a wordless acknowledgement in return) and turned out the lights. She prepared herself for the inevitable nightmares, and rolled over in the bed.

What she got, instead, was a dream that woke her abruptly in the night, but instead of leaving her shaky and ill at ease, it made her want nothing more than to hear a sudden downpour of rain outside her motel room.

Without really thinking about it, she snuck her hand down into her panties—

A gust of wind blew across her face, and Brooke squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as Castiel's sudden appearance blinded her. She cracked her eyes opened again to find him standing at the foot of her bed, wings open wide and clipping through the walls.

"Cass," she whispered.

He did not respond with words, but a loud boom of thunder sounded close by, despite the previously clear skies.

He stared down at her from the foot of the bed, his blue eyes very intense, giving her one of those smiles where the only indication of a smile, at all, was the very slight upturn of one corner of his mouth.

She raised herself up onto her elbows. "You know, all that's missing is an exploded lightbulb and your super messy hair, and you'd look like you did when you showed up in that warehouse to save me. Or in the barn to talk to Dean, for that matter."

Castiel's gaze shifted around the room. He still did not speak, but raised one finger: _Wait_. He disappeared, and reappeared five seconds later, his hair completely disheveled, as if he'd stuck his finger into a light socket. His tie was pulled away from his neck, hanging at a strange angle across his chest, his shirt collar was pulled down, exposing neck and collarbone.

There was another boom of thunder outside, and a flash of lightning so bright that the entire room lit up for a moment. And in that flash of light stood Castiel, with his arms out wide, his wings unfurled, staring down with eyes like glaciers.

She stared back at him, her heart racing in her chest. "What are you gonna do now?" she asked, the words nearly catching in her throat. "Now you have to say the line. _I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._ "

Castiel smiled and looked at his feet for a moment, then held her gaze again. "I did not say those words to you."

"No?" she teased. She knew perfectly well he had not said those words to her.

"No," he repeated. "I did not grip you tight and raise you from Hell." He took a step toward the bed and then crawled onto it and moved slowly over the top of her body. "But I can grip you in other ways," he murmured.

She stared into his face, his eyes, inches from her, and suddenly felt a great, mounting tension at her core as he manipulated the Grace inside her body.

In a sudden flash of inspiration—spurred on by this strange, electric sequence of events—she reached out with that part of her that allowed her to control the Grace inside her. But, instead of controlling her own Grace, she reached out and grabbed hold of the Grace inside Castiel's body. She had figured that if she had some control over the Grace inside her, the Grace that was _his_ , that he had given her, then she didn't see why she couldn't manipulate the rest of his Grace.

He gasped when he felt her, and his eyes grew wide. "How…" he began, but the feel of her gripping the part of himself that made him who he was made it difficult for him to even speak.

_Do you trust me?_ she asked, with a smile.

_With my life_ , he said.

And as she threw her head back in the throes of her own climax, she reached deep inside of Castiel and pulled at that part of him, as well.

He called out, louder than he ever had, his eyes glowing, his light going brighter and brighter, the storm outside raging so hard that the whole world was one, constant, roar.

No windows, shattered, but in the morning, one of them was cracked, and the crack looked like a lightning strike, forking in all directions. And Brooke remembered, suddenly, that she controlled Castiel's Grace like that once before, and he had shattered every window and windshield of every car in Bobby's scrapyard within twenty feet of himself.

As the sun slowly rose, and Brooke stared at the crack in the window, she asked, "I _am_ just a human, right?"

Castiel studied her as he lay beside her in the bed. "Everything about you, physically, is utterly human. The only change is that you have the ability to see angels—and demons—for what they are. It is not unheard of. I thought Dean might have the ability to see my true form when I rescued him."

"But if I'm just a human, I shouldn't be able to manipulate your Grace like that," she argued. "It makes no sense."

He touched her face. "It makes perfect sense to me. I don't imagine you could do it with any other angel. You can only do it with me because we are so closely bonded… We… We've become the same in a lot of ways. You've had my Grace inside your body for six years, only expending it once, after Lucifer killed me. When I was resurrected, God had made me a Seraph—stronger than I had been before."

"Which means," Brooke said slowly, "that when you possessed me again, to leave a part of your Grace inside me again, that you left the Grace of a Seraph the second time. Which means it's… stronger Grace."

"Yes," said Castiel, allowing her the time to understand what he was saying.

"So I've… gotten stronger, too?"

"Yes."

Brooke tried to put it all together, but she was fuzzy from good sex and lack of proper sleep.

Castiel smiled indulgently at her, running his fingers through her hair. "The stronger I get, the stronger you get. The stronger the Grace in _me_ , the stronger it is in you. You could control me as much as I can control _you_ , if you wanted to."

Brooke stared at him, and reached out to touch his face. "That's dangerous information," she murmured.

"I trust you," he said. "I know you won't hurt me."

She smirked, slowly. "That's not what I mean." And she reached deep inside of him and pushed against the Grace in his body, brushing feathery tendrils between his legs.

He inhaled slowly, his eyes half-lidded at the feel of her, and he rose in the bed and crawled on top of her.


	6. Chapter 6

_Six_

After watching over Mr. Jones, the psychic man in the old folks' home, for a few days, just as Castiel had said he would, he and Brooke had to decide what they wanted to do next. Now that the angel no longer wanted to return to Heaven—yet—he was left with a bout of indecision.

Castiel sat on the edge of the bed in their motel room, his face a model of serious thinking. Brooke sat beside him, amused by his expression. Actually, the more Brooke studied him, the more she smiled.

"What?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the wall in front of him, one hand under his chin.

"You look like that statue. The Thinker."

Castiel glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "The man in that statue is naked. I am not."

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek, then threw herself back onto the bed. "Don't take it so seriously, Cass," she said. "What do you _want_ to do?"

"I want to help people," he murmured, "but that could mean… anything."

Brooke stared at the ceiling. "You could become Emmanuel again," she suggested. "Set up shop somewhere, get the word out about a _genuine_ healer."

"Last time I did that, it ended badly for the woman who spent six months letting us live in her house."

"No, it ended badly for _us_. Daphne is fine, I'm sure. Now that you're gone, there would be no reason for demons to come snooping around her house."

Castiel sighed and fell back onto the bed, laying beside her. "What do _you_ want to do?"

"Me?" Brooke looked at him. "I have no idea. If you weren't here, I'd probably go off Hunting… and then, you know, have a complete mental breakdown when the PTSD set in. I'm about as stuck as you are."

He did not look at her, but reached for her hand between their bodies and rubbed his thumb along the back of it, commiserating with her about the affects that Purgatory had left on her mind.

Silence reigned for a while.

"Hey, can't you heal me?" she asked, all of sudden. "Of the PTSD? Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

Castiel sighed, a long, defeated sound.

She stared at him. "Why does that sound like a no?"

He turned on his side to better face her as he explained. "I could try, certainly. But… you already had PTSD long before I knew you, from years of Hunting. Your mother was a Hunter, and she brought you into that life from the moment you were old enough to hold a gun without letting your hand wobble." He paused, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, affectionately. "There are so many… memories, events, people… that are tied to your trauma… It would be tricky, and if I messed up even a little bit of it, you could lose… years' worth of memories."

"You cured people of PTSD as Emmanuel," she murmured. "Why not me?"

He smiled, but there was no joy in it. "The truth? I didn't know those people—any of them. I cared about them, insofar as I could heal them, but I had no history with them. If I start trying to heal you of your trauma, and go too far… Well, there are a lot of traumatic things that happened directly _because_ of me, or because you know me…"

Brooke curled closer to Castiel, pressing her forehead to his. "You could erase my memories of you, is what you're trying to tell me."

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Now, I will still try, if you want me to. I won't keep you from a healthy mind for selfish reasons, and there's no guarantee that I would erase your memories of me—

Brooke shook her head. "If there's even a small chance I could end up forgetting you…" The thought was almost too horrible to even talk about.

"I could… numb you, like I've done in the past," Castiel suggested, quietly. "It might help with the PTSD."

"What, make me all icy and unemotional?" She laughed. "No, thanks. Did that twice, and the second time, when it wore off, all I wanted to do was tear all your clothes off." She paused, laughing again. "Of course, I _already_ have that problem."

Castiel rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

###

Brooke stood beside Castiel as he stared down at a baby in a mother's arms. They were at a kid's playground. Castiel had been watching over the baby for two days, waiting for the doctor's to find what was wrong with it and heal it. But they had missed it, and the angel had decided that he'd waited long enough.

This child was simply one of a number of humans that he had been helping over the past few weeks, wandering the halls of hospitals and psychiatric facilities. He never healed too many in one place, for fear of attracting unnecessary attention, so Brooke forewent the motel rooms. Whenever she grew tired, Castiel would simply find them somewhere quiet and out of the way for her to sleep, somewhere outside, and he would hold her and keep her warm until she awoke. The time spent with him, recently, had felt something like a cross between their lives with Daphne, and their strange "honeymoon" after Castiel had awoken from his coma and wandered all over the Earth, staring at bees.

"He's been crying for two days," Castiel said, breaking Brooke out of her memories.

She glanced at him, then looked down at the baby. The mother stared up at them both, but didn't seem surprised by their presence. She merely nodded at Castiel. Brooke wondered if, perhaps, the mother could sense something different in Castiel, which had calmed her. Something angelic, maybe? She smiled at the thought of her husband bringing others such peace.

"The doctors missed something," Castiel explained. "It's called an inguinal hernia—very hard to detect." He reached down and touched the baby on his forehead with two fingers.

Brooke felt a small flare-up of his Grace, and then it settled again, and the baby stopped crying.

The mother smiled in joy and wonder, and then looked up at Castiel—

…

Brooke blinked a few times, suddenly feeling a little disoriented. They were way on the edge of the park, now, but Castiel had not given her any warning that he was about to teleport them. She looked up at him, quizzically, grabbing his arm as she tried to reassert her balance. Even after six years, teleportation could be a little dizzying.

"We have to go," Castiel said, his voice grave. "One of my brothers is in trouble."

"Do I know him?"

"No. His name is Samandriel. He's being held by Crowley, but I don't know exactly where…"

Brooke thought. "Sam and Dean?"

"Yes." He gripped her shoulder, looking her in the eye to make sure she was all right to teleport again, so soon. She nodded, and they were off.

###

_Are you gonna wake him up?_ Brooke asked, silently.

They were standing there, watching Dean sleep on the couch, a half-drunk beer in his hand. He was snoring.

Castiel glanced at her, awkwardly. _He's sleeping._

_Yes, and you know that he hates it when you stand over him, watching him sleep. You should wake him up._

Castiel began to reach down to touch Dean on the shoulder, but the Winchester suddenly came awake on his own. He looked around, still mostly asleep, then gasped and half-lunged off of the couch, spilling beer all over himself. "Damn it, Cass," he said, putting the beer bottle down on the table harder than was necessary. "How many times I gotta tell you… it's just creepy!" He glanced at Brooke. "Why didn't you—

"I tired to get him to wake you up," she interrupted, "but he was too slow!"

Dean looked down at the beer stain on his shirt.

"Dean, I need your help," Castiel said, and explained the situation with Samandriel and Crowley. "I heard his distress call this morning," he said.

"On angel radio?" Dean asked. "I thought you shut that down."

Brooke turned to look at Castiel, the same question in her own mind. Somehow, she hadn't thought of that, before. And Castiel had made no indication before now of _how_ he had discovered anything about Samandriel.

"My penance, it's going well," Castiel said. "So, I thought it was time to turn it back on."

Brooke raised her eyebrows. Castiel had made a semi-important decision, like turning angel radio back on, and she hadn't even noticed it? She didn't mind what he did, but it was odd to her that she had not _felt_ his decision, considering they were mentally linked.

"I've, uh… been helping people, Dean," Castiel said, smiling like he was proud of himself—or hopeful that _Dean_ would be proud of him. That happy puppy look.

Brooke smirked.

"Well, good for you," Dean said, standing up. "So where did Crowley take Samandriel?"

"He's in the general vicinity of Hastings, Nebraska."

"The general vicinity? That's all you got?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "Which is why I need your help. It seems this is gonna involve… talking to people." He sighed, as if the thought of speaking to a human being was aggravating.

Brooke stared at him. "What am _I_ , chopped liver?" she demanded, though she was smiling. "I thought you needed Dean's help for something big. _I_ can talk to people."

"Of course you can," Castiel replied, turning to her and placing a hand on her cheek. "And you're very good at it. But once we _find_ Samandriel, we'll probably need extra back-up." And then, reacting to that tiny, tiny spark of jealousy, he kissed her, hard enough to make her feel a little floaty for a while. He pulled away and she smiled dreamily at him.

"Guys, cut the PDA," Dean complained. "I just woke up. Anyway, Cass, I thought you were a _Hunter_ now. Brooke's right—why do you need my help, for anything?"

"Well, I thought I was, too," Castiel said. "But it seems I—I lack a certain…"

"Skill?" Dean finished, as he went over and opened his laptop. A strange sound emanated from it for just a second before he slammed the lid closed again. "You saw nothing," he said, over his shoulder.

Castiel opened his mouth, glancing over Dean's shoulder at the closed laptop confusedly, then looked away, unsure of how to respond to the command: _You saw nothing._ He hadn't, in fact, seen anything, so he was doubly confused.

_Porn, I'm guessing_ , Brooke told him. _Probably only reacting like that cos I'm here, and I'm a_ girl, _and girls don't watch porn, or some bullshit like that._

Castiel looked at her. _But you_ do _watch porn._

She nodded. _Exactly. It's bullshit._

Dean opened his laptop again, covering most of the screen with one hand while he shut down the obvious porn he'd been watching before he fell asleep.

Brooke rolled her eyes.

_I don't understand the strange taboo nature your culture has around sex_ , Castiel said. _Sex is a completely natural act. Every animal on Earth performs it._

Brooke shrugged. _You're preaching to the choir, Cass. I don't get it, either._

"All right," Dean said, over his shoulder, apparently done fiddling around on his laptop. "What am I looking for?"

"Well," said Castiel, stepping closer to him. "When you torture an angel, it screams, and that kind of pain, it creates a ripple effect of strange incidents."

"Jesus," Brooke muttered, closing her eyes against the sudden image of Castiel being horrendously tortured.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, automatically, soothing her.

Dean began his research, and Castiel took the moments of silence to glance around. "Where's Sam?" he asked.

"Sam's gone," Dean said, in a tone of voice that suggested, strongly, he did not want to talk about it. "It's all right, we'll, uh… find Alfie ourselves." Alfie, the name of the boy that Samandriel had possessed.

The name of the _human boy_ that was currently _also_ being tortured by Crowley.

Brooke sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. _Goddamn it. Cass, we gotta find Samandriel before Crowley kills him_ and _the kid he's possessing. I don't need another Jimmy Novak situation, here._

A twinge of guilt flooded Castiel's mind, and he quietly, solemnly, agreed with her. They had not spoken about Jimmy Novak in years, but he would never be forgotten. How could he be, when Castiel had gotten him killed, and then come back in his body, without him?

Not for the first time, Brooke glanced at Castiel and felt an uncomfortable pit in her stomach at the thought that she was sexually attracted to a man who was dead—a man who had had a wife and a daughter. Yes, she could see Castiel's true form through the vessel, but most often, now, she merely focused on the vessel, itself. Castiel's real body (if one could even call it that) was so vast that it was hard to look at for very long.

Brooke and Castiel stared sadly at one another, forgetting, momentarily, that Dean was even in the room.

###

On the drive to Nebraska, Castiel spoke, silently, to Brooke about what they might be getting themselves into, going off to rescue Samandriel.

_You've been all right, recently. Still having nightmares, but you're not as… volatile._

Brooke stared at the back of his headrest as he sat in the passenger seat. _You think I'm volatile?_ she demanded, though she was teasing.

_You know what I mean,_ he said. _My point is: we'll probably need to fight before the end of this. We may go up against Crowley, or any number of other demons. Do you think you'll be able to handle it?_

Brooke sighed, folding her arms across her chest. Truthfully, she had no idea if she'd have the mental fortitude to fight anything, if it came to it.

_If you can't do it, I won't think less of you_ , Castiel told her, gently.

_I know you won't. I could kill a puppy and you'd still love me. But I may think less of_ myself _._

_Purgatory was hard for all of us_ , Castiel said. _But… you and Dean, especially. Perhaps because you're human—I'm not sure. Look, even angels can be mentally scarred by trauma, as you well know. If you don't think you're up for this… I'd rather you didn't push yourself too far, too fast. It may cause a relapse._

Brooke sighed again. _If I think I'm going too far, I'll let you know,_ she said. _Hopefully when there's still enough time for me to back out._

And on they went, to go speak to a man about a burning bush.

###

"Mr. Hinckley?" Dean asked, knocking on the doorframe of the poor man's hospital room.

He was covered head to toe in bandages, and the parts of his face and hands exposed to the air were red and blistered. They took his statement—he seemed surprised that they wanted the _exact_ phrasing of the words coming from the burning bush, but he gave it to them anyway:

_Sol voch tay_.

Brooke glanced at Castiel when she heard the words, and they simultaneously thought the same thing: _Obey._

_Sol voch tay_ was the Enochian command for _Obey_.

Later, Castiel explained to Dean: "The amount of pain an angel must be in not just to manifest through the shrubbery, but to burn…" He shook his head. "Dean, we have to find him before it's too late."

Dean looked at the angel, saw the absolutely serious look on his face, and then glanced down at Brooke and saw what she imagined was probably a mirror image of whatever emotion was all over Castiel's face on her own. "Okay," he said, glancing once more between the two of them. "Okay, well, look. A sign like that—Alfie can't be too far, right? So, we'll just start at the bush and work our way out."

"And look for what, exactly?" Castiel asked. "Crowley could have him anywhere."

"Well, if I know Crowley, the place will be swarming with demons. So, we'll just drive 'til we see ugly."

###

They found the factory where Samandriel was being kept, but it was protected by a hoard of demons, as well as angel warding. Without Sam—whom Dean _really_ did not want to get involved in this—they wouldn't be much of a match if they went into to try to rescue the angel as they were.

So, Dean got the idea to go see Kevin.

When Castiel teleported them inside Garth's safe-houseboat, Brooke stared around at the walls, the floor… The place looked trashed.

And so did Kevin. He was hunched over a Word of God, staring at it as if he couldn't really read it. Brooke thought he looked a little high on something, but she figured the _something_ was just… the effort it took to translate the tablet.

"Slow read?" Dean asked him.

Kevin, who hadn't seemed to notice when they'd _whooshed_ inside, finally sat up and turned in his chair. "Slowest," he said.

"Where's Garth?" Dean looked around, as if expecting the man to pop out from behind a corner.

"Supply run?" Kevin said, turning back to the table and putting his arms up on it like he could barely hold his head up. "I don't know. Sort of lost track of when he comes and goes." He turned and looked over the chair again. "You guys need help with something? I'm working, here."

"You look horrible," said Castiel.

Brooke closed her eyes, trying not to laugh. "Cass…" she muttered. "Could ya have some tact?"

"Yeah," said Kevin, to Castiel. "Thanks."

Cass glanced at Brooke, who was giving him a _Can you not?_ look. He cleared his throat. "S-Sorry," he said.

"He's right," Dean piped up. "Are you okay, Kevin?"

Kevin nodded, leaning over the tablet, staring down at it. "Fine. I'm just… in the middle of this."

"And? Any luck?"

"Interpreting half a demon tablet? No. I got nothing."

Brooke stared sadly at Kevin's back. He sounded so… defeated. She couldn't imagine being stuck in this gross houseboat day after day… staring at a tablet, and trying to read the words while they continuously moved around and around on the stone.

Dean turned and glanced back at Castiel and Brooke, sharing a look of concern. "All right, well," he said, facing Kevin again and clapping his hands together. "Buck up, 'cos, uh, we need some more of the at demon TNT, ASAP."

Kevin turned in his char and stared up at Dean like he was lecturing a petulant child. "You used it all?"

"Yeah, so let's whip up another batch."

" _Sure_ ," said Kevin, voice dripping sarcasm. "West Bank witch hazel, skull of Egyptian calf, the tail of some random-ass newt that may or may not be extinct—

"All right, all right, I get it," Dean cut in, as Kevin's voice began to rise in anger. "Ingredients are hard to come by, huh?"

"That's just the first three ingredients," Kevin spat.

Castiel glanced at Brooke out of the corner of his eye, suddenly overcome with a feeling of relief. He seemed to… step into himself a little more. He approached Dean and Kevin, with one of those smiles he did where he was really only smiling with his eyes, his lips hardly lifting at all. A smug smile—that's what it was. Because he knew he could be useful. "Give me the list; I'll get what we need."

Brooke stared at Castiel like she wanted to fuck him right there, just for that smug smile, the way he stood taller, the way his wings—invisible to all but her—shuffled slightly on his shoulders in anticipation of unfurling, to teleport. He was the only one among them with wings, and she could sense his eagerness to use them.

Kevin, on the other hand, stared at the angel like he wished they had never met. Then he sighed, heavily, threw his body across the table, and began to write down the list of ingredients they would need.

Brooke began to feel sorry for him again, but then she felt Castiel's eyes on her. She looked up at him. He was smiling at her with that smug look, his eyes twinkling.

She raised her eyebrows at him in a silent question, but all he would say was, _Not yet._

Kevin finished writing the list of ingredients and ripped the page out of his notebook, hand it to Castiel with a sulk. The angel took it, glanced at it, and then turned to Brooke, offering her his hand.

"You want me to go?" she asked, surprised. She figured this sort of thing would be better handled on his own, since he'd be teleporting all over the place, looking for things.

"Yes," he said, simply, and his face was strangely passive.

Squinting at him, she hesitated, and then took his hand. She did not even have a chance to look around at where they were, after he had teleported them away, because he was suddenly kissing her. She inhaled, sharply, in surprise, but did not pull away. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

When he finally pulled back from her, she said, "What was that for?"

He pressed his forehead against hers, and chuckled—a rare sound, and one she relished. "You know, Crowley once told me I had sex appeal."

She stared at him. "He _did_?"

"Yes, back when I was… working with him."

Brooke laughed. "Well, if he ever tries to hit on you, I'm gonna kick him in the nuts."

Castiel's eyes were twinkling again. "I'd like to see that," he murmured. "My point was: I kissed you for constantly reminding me that he wasn't lying to me."

She laughed again. "Listen, with _me_ , you _know_ you're hot. But with everyone else, you are… the really socially awkward hot guy at the party, who doesn't know that he's hot. And all the girls are flocking to you, but you sort of just stand there in the corner, smiling shyly at all of them, and don't realize that they _all_ wanna bang you."

Castiel raised his eyebrows. " _All_ of them?"

"Oh, yeah. _All_ of them. Most people might not know you're an _angel_ , but they know _something's_ up. You radiate… confidence? Badassery? But you do it… quietly."

The angel looked at nothing in particular, over Brooke's left shoulder, and he smiled a little. Then he said, "I need to get the ingredients."

"Right," she agreed.

And off they went.

The grossest ingredient, by far, was the skull of the Egyptian calf. Brooke did not watch when Castiel went to procure that one, and she didn't look in the sack he was carrying afterwards, either. It took about forty-five minutes to teleport around, looking for all the ingredients, and Brooke was thoroughly nauseous by the time they were done. The smell coming from that sack…

Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with pitying eyes. He activated the Grace inside him as he held onto her, and she felt her nausea pass.

"Thanks," she said, keeping her eyes, firmly, anywhere _besides_ the sack he was holding.

"We have one more stop," he said.

She blinked, and they were sitting on a bench in a park somewhere. Someone beside Castiel, on the bench, made a shocked, gasping noise. Brooke bent forward to see who it was, and immediately nodded. It was Sam. Castiel had come to get Sam. _Dean won't be happy about this_ , she warned him.

_He'll get over it_ , Castiel growled. He leaned forward, resting his arms on knees, and stared around at all the people in the park, saying to Sam, "Watching humanity… It never gets old, does it?"

"What are you two doing here?" Sam asked, not sounding particularly happy to see them. He glanced down at the sack in Castiel's hand, looking queasy.

Castiel quietly explained the situation with Samandriel. "We need your help, Sam," he ended. "We need all the help we can get."

Sam sighed, heavily, rubbed his face with his hands, and said, "Fine."

With only one free hand, Castiel silently told Brooke to take hold of him. She did so. He grabbed Sam's arm, and teleported them back to Dean and Kevin, in the houseboat.

"I got what we need," Castiel said, and began to rustle his hand around in the sack.

Brooke stepped away from him, covering her nose.

Dean looked up, and stared at Sam. "What's he doin' here?" he demanded.

"Don't worry, Dean," Sam piped up. "Once we save Alfie, I'm out."

"Oh, once _we_ save Alfie," Dean snapped. "Don't hurt yourself, Sam. Cass and Brooke and I can handle it."

"Not according to Cass."

Dean looked at the angel. "I told you we didn't need him."

Castiel paused in his rustling, and stared up at Dean in irritation. "We need _everything_ , Dean," he said, and his stare lingered on the Winchester for a moment. Then he turned and looked between the two brothers, and said, like a tired father, "And I need _both_ of you, as you say, to _stow your crap_. Can you do that?"

Brooke turned away, smiling. Castiel was exceptionally attractive when he was angry.

But now that they all the ingredients for the demon bombs, and Sam was back in the picture, Brooke—also—had to _stow her crap_. Though, in her case, it was burying the feelings of desire she had for her husband.

For now.


	7. Chapter 7

_Seven_

"So," Castiel began, as they all stood around outside the Impala, having made their way back to where Samandriel was being held. It was long past dark, now. "There are four main points of warding—North, South, East, and West—and four Enochian symbols that you need to destroy before I can enter." He drew the symbol on Sam's hand with a marker.

"Okay," said Dean, "so what? We go in, take care of the Hell mooks, and you extract the angel?" He glanced between Castiel and Brooke.

"Yes," Castiel replied. "After killing so many… I need to save, at least, this one."

Brooke touched his arm, offering him strength as he tried not to remember, too clearly, the amount of damage he had done in Heaven.

There was a pause, for a moment, as the four of them contemplated Castiel's hand in the destruction of Heaven, and what they were about to do now, here.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said, and the spell was broken.

"Okay," said Dean, and pulled the demon blade out of his inner coat pocket.

Brooke took out her angel blade and prepared to follow Castiel. He glanced down at the blade in her hand, and pulled his own out, handing it to Sam. "Here," he said. "This doesn't just work on angels. It kills demons, too."

Sam nodded his thanks, and the two Winchester brothers went off into the dark, to do their part of the job.

Brooke flipped her own angel blade around in her hand so that he held it by the blade, and offered it to Castiel, hilt-first.

He shook his head at her, slowly. "No, you keep it. You need it more than I do."

She shrugged and flipped the blade in her hand again. As they waited for Sam and Dean to do their job, Brooke asked, "Why does the anti-angel sigil that sends you flying three states away hurt me, too… but I can go into a building with angel warding and it doesn't hurt me?"

"It probably _does_ hurt you, a little, to go into a warded building," Castiel replied. "You just don't notice it; you don't have enough of my Grace for it to truly affect you. But the anti-angel sigil… That hurts you because it hurts _me_ , and we're connected, both mentally and through my Grace. And the Grace inside you… it is compelled to leave, when the sigil is activated. But you're not actually an angel, so you don't go flying like I do. In general, the warding on a building is less powerful than the sigil that compels an angel to actively leave. One is _defensive_ ; the other is _offensive_."

Brooke played with the angel blade in her hands, flipping it between her fingers. "Hypothetically, what would happen if you were magically teleported inside a building with the angel warding still intact?"

"I assume the warding would, very painfully, throw me out."

"So, it would _become_ an anti-angel sigil."

"Yes. But I don't know for certain. I've never heard of an angel somehow getting into a warded area while the warding was still up."

Brooke nodded, silently, and continued to flip the blade around and around in her hands.

###

It took ten, fifteen minutes for the boys to take down the angel warding, and then Castiel teleported himself and Brooke inside with them. They all stood, now, before the final door between themselves and Samandriel. Brooke could sense three beings on the other side of the door, two of whom were demons. She assumed one of them had to be Crowley, for his presence was almost on par with Samandriel's—powerful… although the angel's power was flickering strangely, probably having to do with the torture he was going through. Brooke grimaced as he screamed.

Castiel swayed on his feet, beside her.

Instantly, she turned to him. Something was wrong. Something was… off.

Castiel panted, bending over slightly as if the act of teleporting had winded him, but it should not have. Teleporting was like breathing to an angel, especially to an angel who had not previously used any of his powers in the last several hours, and one who had not sustained any wounds. Castiel should have been at full strength, but he was not.

Brooke held him up, gripping his shoulder, hard. _What's wrong?_

He glanced at her, still panting, then straightened.

An image flashed in his mind, there and gone in a second.

Brooke squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hand into her forehead.

"Hey," Sam said, coming toward them. "Guys, you okay?"

Castiel, who was still breathing quite heavily, said, "It must the sigils. I'm not at full power."

Dean stared into the angel's face, then looked up and around all the sigils still tagged on the walls. "Sam, help me muss this crud," he said.

"No, wait!" Castiel yelled. "There's no time. Samandriel won't last much longer."

Brooke whipped her head up at his voice, so loud and urgent. He was… sweating.

Another flash of an image went through both of their minds, but it came from him.

Castiel's Grace began to rise in both of them, whining that high-pitched tone.

Alarm flooded Brooke as she stared at Castiel. Sam handed him his angel blade back, but he was no longer paying any attention to the Winchesters.

The angel, Samandriel, screamed again, from the other side of the door.

Castiel suddenly put his hands to ears, as if to drown out the sound. Castiel, who had been in countless battles, heard the sounds of many angels screaming before now. Castiel, who could be ruthless when he needed to be. And there was, covering his ears against the sound of another angel's screams.

Brooke stumbled forward and gripped Castiel but the collar of his trench coat. "What is it?" she ground out, her teeth clenched in psychic pain, the Grace in her blood nearly boiling.

Flashes of images ran through her head. _A… a drill?_

Samandriel screamed again.

Absolute panic and terror rose in Castiel. Terror like Brooke had never felt from him. He backed up, away from the door, his face a mask of horror, and bumped into the wall behind him.

Brooke followed him, but he only slid down the wall, staring at the door. He looked to be on the verge or tears, or screams of hysteria.

Brooke fell to her knees in front of him, his panic overwhelming her, the Grace in both of them _screaming_.

_It was a drill. It was a drill… oh God._

Brooke covered her head with her arms, shaking.

_The drill went into Castiel's eye._

The Grace inside both of them screeched horrendously, the pauses in between each hum now one long note, high and terrible, like someone pressing down too hard on a violin.

Brooke, who was still a human, even with an angel's Grace inside her, pressed her arms into her head even harder and screamed in pain. Now she could not tell—was the pain coming from Castiel, or Samandriel? It did not matter. All she knew was that she was a tiny little human, caught between two humongous angels, and the pain coming from both of them was tearing her apart.

_Drills in Castiel's eyes, drills in Samandriel's brain…_

Brooke cried out again, feeling like they were stabbing _her_. She bent down, pressing her forehead to the concrete floor, sweating, shaking.

_Purgatory—drills—monsters—blood—pain—angels—Naomi?—pain—who the fuck was Naomi—pain—Purgatory—blood—pain_.

Castiel rose from the floor, but Brooke did not notice him, stuck somewhere in her own head.

Brooke gasped as Castiel teleported her away, outside. _Where are we?_ she asked.

But Castiel did not answer. He was talking to Samandriel.

Brooke, who was only partially aware of what was going on, lay on the cold ground and tried not to pass out.

"… Can't take me back… Don't understand… Crowley… Secrets I didn't even know we…."

"What secrets?" Castiel's voice.

"… Naomi."

— _Naomi—the drill—pain—blood—_

"… I've been there… I know… They're controlling us, Castiel!—

_"Kill him!"_

Brooke screamed as Naomi's face swarmed into her vision.

_"This is a direct order! Kill him!"_

Brooke could not see, but she could feel Castiel remove his angel blade from his sleeve. Where had he gotten the angel blade? He'd given his to Sam…

"No…" Brooke groaned, and coughed, her voice hoarse from screaming. "Castiel, don't…" She pushed herself up off the ground, the gravel digging into the palms of her hands—

Light flashed in Brooke's eyes Castiel stabbed Samandriel in the gut.

_"NO!"_

But it was too late, even as she felt Castiel try to stop himself, stare down at his own hand in shock and horror.

Brooke crawled across the ground to Castiel. _What did you do?_

Castiel knelt down at Samandriel's broken body and pressed his face into the boy's hair.

Brooke choked on a sob, and pressed her face into his back, holding him around the middle.

_I don't_ , Castiel began, but his thought switched midway. _He was compromised. He revealed our secrets to Crowley._

_So you_ killed _him for it? He was a boy… even by angel time, he was just a boy… and you killed Alfie, too._ Brooke sobbed against Castiel's back, horrified and disgusted, yet she could not tear herself away from him, holding tight to his middle like she would die if she let go.

Sam and Dean were there, suddenly. Brooke's head hurt so terribly… she must not have noticed their approach.

"Let go of me," Castiel said. His voice was strangely emotionless.

"No," she replied, and another sob escaped her.

"Please do not make me hurt you. Let go of me."

Brooke released Castiel, and fell onto the ground, staring up at him in shock. He turned to look down at her for a moment, and blinked.

Blood dripped from the inner corner of his eye. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, staring down it like he had never seen blood before. "My vessel must have been damaged in the melee," he said.

_What melee?_ Brooke asked, in her mind, for she was too exhausted to speak, now.

Castiel turned to Sam and Dean and words were traded between the three of them, but all she heard was the pounding of blood in her head. Or was it Grace?

"Thank you, both," said Castiel, his voice suddenly coming back into focus for her. "For everything you've done."

_What about me?_ she asked, faintly, on the verge of passing out.

He turned and stared at her for a moment, then she felt a twisting inside her mind, the Grace in her blood. _FORGET,_ he commanded, and then he was gone.

And so was she, gone into dreamland.

###

For the next twenty-four hours or so, Brooke was plagued by fever dreams.

_The monsters of Purgatory mixed with angels in her head. Angel blades became giant drills in her hands, and as she plunged them down into monsters, the monsters all became Castiel._

_And the face of an angel named Naomi hovered over everything, watching._

_Once, as she plunged a drill down into Castiel's eye, he fought back, gripping her by the front of her shirt and throwing her to the ground. She scrambled away, staring at him as he came toward her with the drill still in his eye._

_He pulled it out, and it became an angel blade again. He walked toward her, calmly, bleeding from his eye, and knelt down on top of her chest, so that she gasped, uselessly, for breath._

_He stared down at her, his face devoid of emotion, and plunged the angel blade into her eye._

###

Brooke woke suddenly, at the sound of screaming, and sat up, panting. It took some time for her to realize where she was. She sat on a couch, her knees pulled up to her chest. Rufus' cabin. That's where she was. She felt sick. Feverish.

"Hey," said a voice, quietly.

Her eyes swiveled to the right. Dean sat in a chair, his elbows on his knees, staring at her.

She stared at him, but said nothing.

"You've been out of it since last night."

Brooke looked away, trying to remember what had even happened last night. _Castiel_. She looked at Dean again, repeating the name, aloud: "Castiel."

"He's still gone."

And suddenly, she remembered that Castiel had stabbed Samandriel to death. She began to cry.

Dean sighed, heavily and stood up. He left her for a moment, and when he returned, he was carrying two beers. He offered one to her.

She stared at it for a moment, and then shook her head. "My head feels like shit, already," she told him through her tears. "Water would probably be better."

Dean made a face, like water was the most disgusting substance on Earth, but he went back to the kitchenette and came back with a glass of tap water. She took it and sipped it, trying to force the tears down. Crying was making her headache worse.

"Listen," said Dean, sitting back down in the chair and sipping his beer. "What the hell happened last night?"

"I… I don't know. Castiel teleported us—Samandriel and me—outside and…" Brooke closed her eyes as the world began to spin. The glass in her hand shook. Something was wrong. Fuzzy. "All I remember," she said, slowly, "is Castiel stabbing Samandriel."

"He said it was self-defense," Dean replied. "Is that true?"

Brooke held her head in one hand. "I… I don't think Samandriel attacked him… But, I-I don't know."

"What was the deal with you screaming like that?"

"Screaming," she repeated, faintly, shaking her head. "I was screaming?"

Dean stared at her, hard. "You don't… remember? After Castiel freaked out. lookin' like he saw a ghost?"

Brooke's head was splitting. The glass slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor, and she gripped her head in both hands, crying out.

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean said, getting up out of the chair and going to her. He held her shoulder. "Brooke? Hey, what's wrong?"

But Brooke could no longer hear him. The world spun out of control, and she blacked out.

###

Brooke was more stable once she woke up the second time, but every time Dean tried to ask her about Cass, she felt woozy all over again. He eventually learned to stop asking, though they did have a bit of a tense moment once.

"Are you hiding something from me?" he demanded, pointing a finger at her.

She stared at him. "About what? Cass?"

"Of _course_ Cass! What else would I be talking about?"

Brooke sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. "Look, this isn't… this isn't like when he wanted to open Purgatory, okay? I'm not keeping his secrets. I swear, if he ever decides to do something so stupid ever again, I will tell you before I do anything else."

Dean studied her for a few seconds, his green eyes harsh and cold, and then he nodded. "Okay. I'm holding you to that, though."

"Fine," she said, twisting her wedding band around on her finger. "Look… Whatever is wrong, he never told me anything about it, and I… I never sensed anything wrong with him until the night we went to rescue Samandriel. And it's kind of impossible for him to hide anything from me, cos we're… you know."

"Yeah," said Dean. "The Vulcan mind-meld thing."

Silence, for a beat.

"Is it weird?" he asked.

"What?"

"The Vulcan mind-meld thing."

Brooke tried to remember what being connected to Castiel's mind had felt like six years ago. "Weird, no… In the very beginning, all it was, was just… overwhelming. Castiel is…" She sighed. "It's different for you, for Sam. For anyone else. Because you can't _see_ him. Not really. But you have to remember, he's not human, even if he acts like it—well… He acts like a very socially awkward human, but human nonetheless." She smiled. "But he's… he's _not_. Being attached to his mind was never _weird_ for me so much as it was just too much, in the beginning. What _you_ see is a small, scrawny little man in a trench coat. His clothes are too big for him, which just makes him look smaller. What _I_ see, what I _feel_ … It's like… stars. A galaxy. An entire universe, inside this tiny shell of a man. But I can _see_ it—him. I can see… all of him."

Brooke had almost forgotten that she was even talking to Dean, as she thought about Castiel. In their day to day lives, after six years, she had mostly gotten used to having an angel in her head, to looking at him and mostly focusing on the vessel. It was only late at night, or right when she woke up, that she really gave herself time to focus on… the vastness of him.

"He's beautiful," she murmured, gazing at nothing, but seeing the angel in her mind, remembering all that glorious light pouring from him when he had rescued her from those demons six years ago.

Then, she remembered who she was talking to, and glanced up at Dean, blushing. "You… probably didn't wanna hear all that."

Dean was staring at her, strangely, his mouth half-open. But he snapped out of it the moment she remembered he was there, and cleared his throat. "It's, uhh… It's fine," he said, smiling awkwardly, and walking away.

Brooke watched him go, wondering…


	8. Chapter 8

_Eight_

Castiel did not return, at least as far as Brooke could tell. She remained in Rufus' cabin for days, as Sam and Dean went off to solve some case. Castiel did not try to reach out to her, even in dreams, and she did not pray to him—or tried her best not to. It was difficult, trying not to think about him all the time. She found herself subconsciously twisting her wedding ring around and around her finger with her thumb, or rubbing the tattoo of his name on her arm.

She did not sleep well at night, plagued by nightmares that left her sweaty and shaking. Being alone in the cabin at night probably didn't help. They had warded the place against angels, and she—of course—salted the doors and windows against demons, but the emotional part of her brain was not soothed by the logical side that told her nothing could get her here.

She missed Bobby, perhaps even more than she missed Castiel. It was strange to think about, but with her mind all twisted up like it was, what she wanted most was someone to pat her back like a child and tell her she was all right. Castiel had done this for her many times, but she craved that harsher tone from Bobby Singer. What she _wanted_ was for someone to hold her; what she _needed_ was for someone to tell her to get off her ass. Castiel was, presumably, up in Heaven—a place he'd told her he was going to return to, anyways. She had no idea how long he would be there, or what was wrong with him, or why her memory was so fucked, but there didn't seem to be much she could do about any of those things, and she felt useless sitting around Rufus' cabin for days…

Just when she was starting to become truly restless, Dean called her to tell her that he and Sam were on their way back to her, and that she should pack whatever stuff she might have. He sounded strangely happy.

"What's up?" she asked him, somehow distrustful of that joyful tone.

"You'll see," he told her.

###

The bunker was… _something_. Much like the Winchesters, Brooke had never really had her own place before. Well, she had, once. Years ago, now, before a demon had possessed her and forced her to walk into a warehouse and sit down in a chair. Back then, she'd shared an apartment with some roommates. But since then, she'd slept in motels or cars… or out in the open, sometimes, with Castiel.

Castiel, who still had not contacted any of them. It had been over a month, now. Most of the time, Brooke stayed in the bunker. In truth, she still wasn't sleeping well. She'd even tried some pills that were supposed to knock you out, but all that did was make her groggier than usual when she'd wake up out of nightmares in the morning.

Having her own room was nice, even if she didn't get much sleep in it. The first thing she thought of, though, was that the bed was too small for two people. That had been when she'd first moved in, and she had almost asked one of the boys to help her push another bed into the room, before remembering that Castiel was gone off to Heaven, and that he'd murdered an innocent boy before he'd left.

Brooke kept herself busy in the bunker, helping the boys with lore research when she could. She never went out Hunting with them, or on her own. A Hunter trying to Hunt on almost no sleep usually only meant one thing: death.

She did go with them, once, to go see Kevin after he called them with information about the demon tablet. They needed to leave soon afterwards, and Brooke offered to stay with Kevin in Garth's safe-houseboat, but Kevin snapped at her that she would just bug him like his mom did, reminding him to eat and sleep.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" she asked him.

" _Yes_ ," he said. "I just want all this to be _over_. If I'm constantly sleeping, how am I supposed to translate the rest of this? I can sleep when it's done."

_Or when you've worked yourself to death_ , she thought, but said nothing.

###

Time passed, and Brooke continued not sleeping, wandering the bunker alone. She found herself accidentally bumping into things, and nodding off anytime she sat down. Small nightmares would plague her, even then, mostly images of Castiel's face, emotionless and robotic, coming toward her with murderous intent.

Then, they began to change. There he would be, kneeling over her chest, about to plunge an angel blade into her face, and suddenly—

_He bent down over her, his mouth against her ear, and hissed, "Help me_ —

Brooke came awake with a gasp, his plea still echoing around in her head: "Help me."

_Help me._

_Help me._

His voice, his face… they had been so clear, that time. So loud that it had woken her up. Like he'd been standing over her in the chair she'd fallen asleep in.

Brooke fumbled in her pocket for her cellphone and called Dean.

He picked up on the fourth ring. "Brooke?"

"Dean," she hissed, whispering into the phone as if Castiel was spying on her, invisibly, from the corner of the room. "Something's wrong with Cass."

"Yeah, I know. He's acting really weird."

Brooke stared at the wall in front of her. "What?" she asked, faintly.

"He didn't _tell you_ he was back?"

The phone nearly slipped from her fingers. He was here. He was on Earth. "No," she told Dean. Something really _was_ wrong if Cass had made it back to Earth and hadn't told her. And now, this dream… "Listen to me," she said, speaking quickly. "I told you I would tell you if I ever found anything weird about him, and I'm _telling you_. I don't know what it is, but he just… he just tried to communicate with me in a dream, and…" She paused, shaking her head, trying to figure out what was most important for Dean to know. "Don't go anywhere alone with him," she finally said, the image of him stabbing her in the eye with an angel blade playing and replaying in her mind.

"Wait a minute," said Dean. "You said he tried to communicate with you in a _dream_? Brooke, you've been having nightmares for weeks. How do you know—

"Just _trust me_ ," she snapped, too worried about the wellbeing of the boys—all three of them—to care about her tone of voice. "This last dream was… different."

"Fine."

Brooke took a breath. "Where are you, again?"

He told her.

"I'm coming there," she said, standing up out of the chair and making her way to the stairs up and out of the bunker. "Cass… he asked me to help him. I think he needs me." It sounded so stupid when she said it out loud, as if Castiel were incapable of taking care of himself if she wasn't there. But it had truly felt that way in the dream. He had begged her to help him, and she had every intention of doing so.

###

It was going to take six hours to get from the bunker to Lincoln Springs, Missouri, where the boys were, and Brooke wasn't feeling very optimistic that she would get there in time. In time for _what_ , she had no idea. But she could still hear that utter desperation and _fear_ in Castiel's voice; it swirled around in her brain like a hurricane.

She was driving a car that Dean had stolen for her some time ago (Sam had driven it back to the bunker, following Dean, who was in the Impala). They'd presented it to her, happily, and she had been grateful, but had not yet found a reason to use it. As she drove it for the first time, down the freeway, she did feel a little guilty (as she did every time) that the car was not hers. It had been stolen from some poor fool. But when you were a Hunter, you didn't have time to feel bad about stealing. Still, she missed _her_ car, the one she had taken from Bobby's scrapyard. Now, it was probably sitting rusted out somewhere. In fact, she didn't even remember where she'd last used it. All those memories were sort of muddled together, and she was low on sleep, which made only matters worse.

She shook her head, and turned the radio on, loud, and rolled down the windows. Anything to keep her awake on a six-hour drive.

She knew she would make it. She had to. She felt like she could still feel Castiel's breath in her ear, that desperate hissing voice: _Help me_.

She drove faster.

She was half an hour away when she got a text from Dean, with an address attached: _Going in with Cass. Not alone. Sam & Meg outside._

###

Brooke braked the car so hard the tires squealed and stumbled out of the front seat. It was nighttime, and it was dark, but she could see Sam and Meg fighting demons outside the crypt. More importantly, she could _feel_ Castiel's Grace, and it was… wrong. It twisted around itself and screeched and pulled.

Brooke was torn, half of her wanting to stay outside and help protect Sam and Meg. _Meg_. She knew, now, that some part of her was in love with Meg, just as some part of Castiel was in love with Dean.

Dean. That was more important—getting to Castiel and Dean.

Brooke sprinted into the building, dodging the outstretched hand of a demon. Meg pulled him back, smirking at Brooke as she passed, but there was no time to slow down.

She was dragged along by the string connecting her to Castiel, the Grace in her blood singing the same notes as the Grace in him. But the notes were discordant and ugly and too loud. Her veins were on fire. She heard Dean's voice echoing from the room they were in.

"Cass, this isn't you."

_Punch._

Brooke burst into the room. Castiel did not even turn around. She could not see Dean's face, but she saw him kneeling in front of the angel, his crumpled form visible between Castiel's legs.

"Cass. I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Cass… _It's me_."

Brooke sprinted around the objects in the room and fell to her knees beside Dean, then crawled forward so that her body was in front of his. _Castiel_ , she said, silently. _I will not let you kill Dean. You'll never forgive yourself_. She had not had a chance to really look at Dean, but she'd seen a flash of his pulpy, bloody face, and it broke her heart.

"We're family," Dean said, his voice breaking from pain—physical and emotional.

_Stop, Castiel_ , Brooke added. _You asked me to help you and I'm here._

And then she took hold of his Grace, as she had only done previously in their bed, and gripped it tightly, anchoring him to this moment, making him feel _pain_. Not enough to truly debilitate, but enough to ground him back down to reality. She could see his face, and he was so… emotionless.

And she finally understood all those nightmares, where he had come at her with an angel blade, his face passive and robotic, and stabbed her. It had been leading to this, somehow. She didn't know why or how, but she knew it had all been leading to this. The blade glinted in his hand.

_You can't kill Dean_ , she said again. _You love him_. And she kept her tight grip on his Grace, and watched his face twist in pain.

"We need you," Dean said, from behind her. "I need you."

A voice suddenly sounded in Brooke's mind. Naomi. _You have to choose, Castiel. Us or them._

"Cass," Dean begged.

"Castiel," Brooke echoed. "Please."

And he seemed to notice her for the first time, then. His eyes flicked down to meet hers, then looked behind her at Dean. The angel blade fell from his hand. He looked shattered.

Dean seemed to lose all strength in his body, and fell over off of his knees, crying out in pain. Brooke turned to him, briefly, and laid a hand on his arm. There was nothing she could do for him right now. When Castiel moved, she whipped her head around again, afraid he was about to murder both of them.

But he only reached down and picked up the tablet off the floor. Light poured from the tablet and into him when he touched it, blinding Dean so that she felt him turn away behind her. But Brooke could look into the light without going blind, and she did. And the light was beautiful. But she could not appreciate its beauty in this terrible moment.

The light vanished after a moment, and Castiel turned to face Brooke and Dean again. He reached down toward them, his right hand extended, and Brooke flinched, throwing herself over Dean, still unsure of the angel's true motives. Castiel looked heartbroken at her actions, but kept reaching, past her.

"No," said Dean, terrified, as that hand kept reaching.

Without thinking, Brooke snatched Castiel's wrist, pushing his hand away. And touching him revealed, suddenly, his intentions. "Oh," she breathed.

The angel looked at her sadly, and then began to reach for Dean again. The Winchester's breathing became erratic with fear. "Cass," he said, and was nearly crying.

Brooke laid a hand on him again, turning to face him. "Shh," she said, as if Dean were a small, scared child. "It's all right now. He won't hurt you."

Dean glanced between her and the angel, his eyes wide with terror.

"Dean," said Brooke, her voice gentle. "It's all right. He wants to heal you."

Dean found her eyes again, stared at her, and nodded. Still, he flinched when the angel touched him, gripping the sleeve of his coat.

Brooke watched as the bloody mess of his face healed.

Behind her, Castiel said, "I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean stared up at him. "What the hell just happened?"

Brooke stood up, her knees aching from pressing into cold concrete for so long, and offered her hand to Dean. He took it and she pulled him up. Then she stood, quietly, beside Castiel. His Grace was mostly calm, though there was still a little bit of turbulence inside him as he thought about every awful punch to Dean's face that he had landed.

Memories, previously hidden from both of them, flooded his mind, and Brooke's. Naomi had done it all.

Castiel explained, as best he could, to Dean.

Naomi had rescued both Castiel and Brooke from Purgatory. And she had been controlling _him_ ever since, at least for the most part. She had been, partially, the cause of Brooke's awful nightmares. Anything to keep her quiet and out of the way while Castiel did the job that Naomi had brought him back for: to get the angel tablet, and to keep an eye on the Winchesters while he was at it.

And she had kept this all from Castiel, had manipulated him, had _tortured_ him. Had made him kill Dean a thousand times in practice runs, trying to break his spirit, remold him into the perfect soldier. Trying to remold him into what she believed an angel was supposed to be. And in keeping it all from Castiel, she had kept it from Brooke, whose mental connection to the angel made it easy to tamper with _both_ sets of memories.

"Well, what broke the connection?" Dean asked, at the end of the tale.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I just know that I have to protect this tablet now."

"From Naomi?" Dean asked.

"Yes… and from you." Castiel stared at the Winchester, his eyes sad. He turned to Brooke as Dean began to protest, and reached out with a hand, brushing it against her cheek.

_Goodbye_ , he thought. And vanished.

Brooke wanted to fall apart, right there. She had finally gotten him back, without Naomi's influence, and now he was gone again. But there was no time to fall apart, yet.

Sam came charging down the steps, asking where Cass was and telling them that they needed to leave. Crowley was outside. He was outside… with Meg.

"No," she said, and charged up the steps.

The boys followed behind her and Dean yanked her arm so hard that she thought it might have come out of its socket.

"Crowley is that way," he hissed, and pulled her along a different way, to a different exit.

"Meg," Brooke said, unable to voice the rest of it. Her brain was too scrambled by everything that had just happened.

"Who cares about Meg?" Dean said.

" _I DO!_ " Brooke screeched.

Dean turned back and clamped a hand over her mouth. His eyes were intense. "Meg is keeping Crowley busy so that we can get away. She knows what she signed up for." He faced forward again and yanked Brooke's arm, dragging her farther away.

She barely remembered getting into the car, and turned around once she was there. Meg had stabbed Crowley in the arm with an angel blade. Crowley screamed, and took the blade from his arm, and stabbed Meg in the chest with it; she fell to the ground, the life drained from her.

The tires of the Impala squealed as Dean drove away, but the sound was drowned out by Brooke's screams.


End file.
